Apologise
by SironaFlett .o.x.o
Summary: A series of drabbles that construct Sherlock's life pre-John. Some of it in Sherlock's point of view... and sometimes not. Rated for Drug use, sex etc
1. Chapter 1

**Aged 23 Years old.**

Sherlock took a deep breath and resurfaced from the murky bathwater. He panted steadily rubbing the soap from his eyes. His frame shook as the cold washed over his thin frame. On the side of the bath was a needle, a tourniquet and a few drops of his blood. He squeezed his eyes shut, shuddering. His fingers traced the tiny puncture wounds that covered the crook of his elbow, not really thinking. So many memories within the wounds… His hand curved around his arm holding it tightly. Old wounds dulled against the new ones. It was somewhat comforting. His mind raced furiously. It was exhilarating.

There was a knock at the door. Sherlock ignored it. There was a noise; someone was talking. Sherlock delved deeper into the bath letting the water rise above his ears. He closed his eyes.

...

Mycroft pulled his brother from the bathtub, soaking his suit straight through. He checked his pulse. Barely over 30. Pressing his lips against his brother's, he breathed. CPR was a difficult thing to learn. Sherlock choked, spewing up water and a little bit of vomit.

"You stupid, ignorant bastard!" Mycroft breathed, pulling a towel around his brother. He caught sight of the needle on the bath edge. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

Sherlock mumbled something before slipping into unconsciousness. Mycroft pulled his brother up over his shoulder and carried him away from the bathroom.


	2. Chapter 2

_**Three years previously**_

I blinked, looking up at the ceiling. This wasn't my home. I sat up, then decided against it. My head was throbbing painfully. What happened last night? I screwed up my face trying to remember.

"Morning!" Someone said, flinging open the curtains. I drew back giving a long groan. I struggled back into the darkness. Someone sat beside me. "Wake up!"

"No." I said, pulling the covers of the bed over my head.

"Father is coming over,"

I pulled it back and looked at the face of my brother. "All the more reason to not get up,"

"He wants to see you,"

"Well I don't want to see him."

"Well, what am I supposed to say to him? Sherlock can't come through, he spent all last night drinking and taking drugs-"

"I wasn't taking drugs,"

"Don't lie," Mycroft said idly. "Oh and by the way dad, Sherlock has been fired. _Again._"

"You don't need to say it like that," I muttered. "Not my fault she was cheating with the coffee boy,"

"Get up," Mycroft ordered. "And get changed, you look like a wreck."

"And you look like a prat," I sneered. "I think I win," Mycroft sighed and sat on my bed. I moaned. "What now?"

"Sherlock, you know I worry,"

"You really don't,"

"Shut up,"

"See?"

"Sherlock,"

"What?"

"I do worry about you," Mycroft said. "This is not the way I want you to live your life. You could do so much more,"

"Are you gonna chat all morning or are you going to let me get ready?" I asked.

Mycroft said nothing. He bit his lips. "Very well," He said. "Might I request you get rid of _her_," He nodded towards the sleeping Marie beside me. I looked at her with a little distaste.

"Whatever," I muttered, pulling the blankets over my head. I heard Mycroft sigh, then with one quick movement, he tore the blanket off, leaving me shivering on the bed. Marie still slept on. I sat up. "Do you mind?" I asked.

"My house, my rules,"

"Erm… Mum's house, your wife's rules," I retorted.

"Sherlock!"

"I'm up already!"

"No, you're not,"

"No, I'm not,"

"Sherlock!"

"Mycroft! See! I can be annoying too!"

He sighed again then left. I leapt out of bed and grabbed the blanket, pulling it over me. Damn. Now it was all cold and it didn't feel right. I squirmed for a moment trying to find some heat, then gave up and got up.

….

Dad was a portly fellow with sharp features that had declined over the years. He sat watching the television curiously. His… Bitch as I had come to know her was sitting opposite him. He was transfixed on that Fiona… Person… I don't know her name.

"It's just the news dad," I said, sitting down on one of the seats. He turned to me with his sharp eyes. I looked away, knowing what I had caused. "Sorry," I muttered.

"So you should be," His bitch said.

"You have no right to speak to me," I said.

"Sherlock," She smiled. "Don't be so mean,"

I ignored her. "What are you doing here?" I asked.

"Can I not visit my son?" Father asked.

"If you wanted to see us why couldn't you have invited us to yours?" I asked.

"I was rather hoping you wouldn't be here," Father said quietly.

"Ditto, dad," I said. Mycroft entered the room and sat comfortably on the armchairs. "Where's mum?" I asked.

"Out," Mycroft replied.

"And you didn't mention this because…?"

"Sherlock, you should have worked it out on your own," Mycroft replied.

I sighed kicking the legs of the coffee table. I hate it when they refer to me as the stupid one of the family. The Bitch had gotten a new tan. She looked stupider than usual but dad looked content to be at her side. She had been sleeping around again. I dared not say a word. We sat in uneasy silence for a few minutes. I sighed loudly.

"That's it!" I cried. "I'm going out!" I grabbed my coat, which Mycroft must have put up after I stumbled into the house after 2 in the morning with Marie.

"What about…?" Mycroft indicated to the room where she slept.

"Oh… Um…" I went back into the room and slipped a quick note under her fingers. I returned after a few minutes. "Taken care of," I said.

"Is it that Marie?" Father asked.

I bit my lip, saying nothing. I grabbed my scarf and left.

Stupid cunts.


	3. Chapter 3

**Aged 18 Years old**

She stared up at me, holding my elbow. I sighed. Here we go.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" She cried, flinging my arm away.

"Just don't," I said, moving away. She stopped me, grabbing my coat. The cold wind died down but it was easy to see that there was a storm on the way. "What is it Marie?" I asked calmly.

"Drugs Sherlock," She said. "What the fuck is wrong with you? Do you want to die?"

"No," I muttered.

"Then what the hell are you doing?"

"I might ask you the same thing," I replied.

Marie took a step back, her blue eyes widening. "I beg your pardon?"

"Feeding information to the crooks of London?" I challenged. "Fuelling lies?"

"I'm not the one shooting up every night!"

"No you're just supplying cunts like me the stuff!"

"How dare you!" Marie shouted.

"How dare I? How dare I? You stupid little bitch!" I shouted.

Marie backed off, staring at me terrified. I realised that my hand was raised as if I was about to hit her.

"Why are you doing this?" She whispered.

I took a deep breath and pulled her forward into a close embrace. She curled under my jacket crying softly. "I don't mean to do this," She whispered. "I was asked to deliver some information and I dug myself into a hole – I can't get out of it, Sherlock. I just can't…"

"It's okay," I muttered.

Marie looked up at me. "Why are you doing this Sherlock?" She asked. "You have such a brilliant mind why are you doing this to yourself?"

Words failed me. I sighed. "I'm sorry,"

"Sherlock, please tell me," She insisted.

I pulled away and lit a cigarette taking a long drag and staring at the stars. Marie loitered behind me before tugging at my jacket. I turned to look at her, heavy hearted.

"I just," I couldn't think. "I… I get bored," I said simply.

Marie stared at me. She knew me better than anyone else and she knew when I was lying. But this was one of those times when I managed to convince her that I was telling the truth.

She put her arms around me. "Sherlock, I don't want to lose you," She whispered.

I hugged her tighter. "You're not going to lose me," I replied. "You might, if I decide to build a shrinking machine…"

I felt her laugh and I grinned. "I'd prefer an enlargement machine, dear," She said.

"For what?" I asked.

She looked up at me and grinned mischievously. "Oh," I said. "Very witty, well done,"

"C'mon, I want to go home," She said.

"Then go," I said. "I need to talk to Phil."

"What?"

"Just go,"

"What the hell do you need to talk to Phil for?"

"Don't, he's my best friend."

"No, no, best friends help you. He's destroying you." Marie argued.

"Marie don't!" I shouted. "Just go home. I'll see you there!"

Marie said nothing, she straightened her coat and adjusted her bag strap. She leaned up to kiss me on the cheek then she disappeared into the night.


	4. Chapter 4

**Aged 9 years old**

Dad came home smelling of cheap lager and peanuts. Mum was not pleased at this. But nevertheless she made sure it was all okay for him to get to his room. Mycroft and I were having an intellectual game of scrabble in which I was winning. Well, he would say he was winning but he was my brother, he always had to win even if it was fictional. Dad shouted lazily at mum to go make him a cup of coffee. Mum obliged.

Dad leaned over and said something inaudible to Mycroft before turning to me. "What the fuck are you still doing up at this hour?" He bellowed. I jumped and got up, ready to go to bed. He grabbed me by the shoulder and threw me down to the ground. The first kick in the stomach came as no surprise, it was customary for him to greet me in this way. Kicking and kicking and punching me till I was a bloody mess on the floor didn't stop him from kicking and punching.

It was fruitless to plead with him and his relentless torture. Kicking and punching, kicking and punching.

Mycroft jumped onto dad's back. "Get off of him!" He shouted. Dad threw my brother to one side knocking over the table where the scrabble sat but he made no attempt to beat my brother up. Kicking and punching again and again.

"ROBERT!" mother's voice screamed as she saw the carnage. He continued as if she hadn't spoken. She leapt forward and threw the coffee over him. He shouted in pain running out of the house. Mum helped Mycroft up before rushing over to check me.

Summary: Three cracked ribs, a broken nose four cuts and a bruised cheek. Not that bad, it could have been worse. Mycroft helped me to my feet and we made our way to our room before mum came in with a stock load of bandages and such.

She sang a lullaby as she wiped us down. Crying softly as she did so. After about an hour or so, mother checked outside. Dad had passed out in the snow. Tiredly she went outside with Mycroft and dragged the drunk into the warmth.

She too cooed at his scald wounds. Tears falling thick and fast down her cheeks. Mycroft stayed in the room with me, leaning on the doorframe watching mother and father together in the front room. He looked too and from our room across the hall into the living room.

"Mycroft," I muttered a little drowsy from the dose of calpol mum had given me. He looked over at me.

"Don't try and talk," He said coldly. He didn't mean to be cold. It was just the way he was. "Just go to sleep."

…

I woke in the morning feeling sore and uncomfortable. I rolled over and looked at the clock. It was early. Mycroft was snoring heavily beside me. Sighing I got up and made my way through to the kitchen. Dad was up already though he must have had a sweltering hangover and his burn wounds must be smarting some. They were mostly around his hands which had been bound up tightly; by mother I assumed.

He smiled over at me. "Here's my lad," He said happily. "How about some breakfast?" He showed me the pan with some sizzling bacon in it. I stared at him, hatred boiling deep inside me.


	5. Chapter 5

**Aged 14 years old**

Sherlock was on his own again. He didn't mind it as much, so many years of just being alone. He hacked open the letter from Mycroft and lay across his bed, trying to block out the noise that was coming from his parents room.

_Sherlock_

_University is unbelievably dull. We are gathered into rooms that are larger than our own house, there are only a few students in my course which would be fine if we were not all stuck up our own __arses, pardon my French. I shall say things straight that being stuck in the same room with 10 socially awkward students, who sit on their own in a massive room, is how I prefer human contact._

_The professor came into the lecture hall and stared at us._

"_When I return in six minutes (I must clarify that he was specific in his times – I believe you would have enjoyed his company) I wish to see you all in this front row so I can teach professionally and not need to strain my voice."_

_So, grudgingly we sat together. This chap next to me was quite ridiculous, especially in his dress sense. I am sorry, but I cannot see the point in "Moon Boots". You would not have enjoyed his company, then again, you might have because you must do the opposite of everything I say._

_Anyway, he began to talk very excitedly about this thing that his younger sister is doing. Apparently, there is a small gathering of the greatest medical professions in Edinburgh. I here that one of Joseph Bells descendents are speaking. I thought that since you are considering a career in medicine, that you would be interested in trying to get a place. It is not that well known, but I am sure I can have someone organise it for you. _

_I fear to ask how our parents are. _At this Sherlock heard a mighty crash and screaming. He quietly curled underneath his bed, to make sure that he was out of sight when he was sure that his father would burst into the room to confront him as well. _I am truly sorry I left you in that dire state of affairs. I can only imagine what it's like. If I could I would take you from that place and put you with Great Aunt Cherie. But of course, mother would never let her baby Sherlock go. _

_May I ask, with great curiosity, how that small crush on Lily Mackenzie playing out for you? _At this Sherlock scrunched the paper slightly. How the hell did he know? _I would mock, however it is far to easy. Plus, I shan't be able to see the expression-_

"SHERLOCK!"

Sherlock hid the letter under the carpet, that was peeling off from the corners. He pulled in his lanky legs so that he was invisible underneath the low bed. He saw his father's dark brown shoes. Caked in dirt. Red dirt. He had been working out in the quarry again. He stopped paused and twisted around on his heels.

"Where the fuck are you?" He bellowed.

Sherlock continued to huddle on his own. For a moment he thought that his deranged father would leave. But the entire bed was flung up as he was wretched away by the hair.

"You fucking little bastard! Did you think you could hid from me!"

"No! Dad! Please!" Sherlock screamed as he was pulled through the house.

"You're not getting away from me! Not like your stupid brother! Do you hear me? DO YOU FUCKING HEAR ME SHERLOCK?"

"Yes!" Sherlock shouted.

Before he knew what had happened, Sherlock found himself in the garden his father throwing bottles after him.

"YOU'LL BE BACK YOU FUCKING LITTLE SHIT!" He shouted after him. "You always come back!"

Sherlock knew he was right. He caught himself on the barbed wire that lay around his late grandfathers scrap yard. He carried on into the dark depressing woods to a place he knew well. Once he found the familiar set of trees, he made his way to the makeshift home from home. Corrugated metal was the ceiling and old bits of plastic acted as windows that stared out to the barely visible bungalow. He found the old holey blanket and flicked a few spiders off of it before looking for the matches and looking for the small candle that kept him warm.

There was not much to do in this tiny home. So, Sherlock fell against the old cushion and closed his eyes, trying not to let the cold in.

**Please give me your thoughts thus far**


	6. Chapter 6

_**To the wonderful being who is Cyberbutterfly, I have decided to add ages at the top of each chapter. Go back and check out the ages and tell me what you make of them. **_

**Aged 6 years old.**

Sherlock prodded the water gently with the branch that Mycroft had snapped down from the tree. He was up amongst the branches whilst Sherlock remained rooted to the ground. It was totally silent and all that could be heard was the settling calm of the twilight.

"Mycroft?"

"Mm?"

"Does dad hate us?"

Mycroft swung from the branch, his legs holding up as he hung upside down. He looked over at his brother. "What ever gave you that impression?"

"Don't treat me like an idiot," Sherlock said. "If he hates us then why? I can't think of anything we've done,"

Mycroft scratched his stomach. "Because, Sherlock," He said.

There was a moment of silence.

"Because what?" Sherlock asked.

"Just because. There's no real reason."

"There's always a reason,"

Mycroft sighed and jumped down from the branch. "I can't think of any logical reason as to why our father beats us up every other night,"

"Don't say that, Mycroft," Sherlock said.

"Oh you want to still please him? Fuck off, he's a Wanker and he deserves whatever is coming to him."

"Mycroft!"

"Shut up you tit,"

"You shouldn't use bad words."

Mycroft slapped his brother around the head and took the branch from him. Sherlock stared after him as he leaned down and rolled up his jeans.

"What are you doing?" He asked.

"What does it look like I'm doing?" Mycroft shot back, pulling out his knife and whittling down the end.

"Looks like you want to go fishing,"

"But?"

"But I thought you hated fish,"

Mycroft slapped him around the head again. "I'm not going to eat it you fanny," He said.

Sherlock frowned. "Then what are you going to do with it?"

"At school, we're allowed to use the science lab if we're smart," Mycroft replied.

"So are you going to eat it there?"

Another slap around the head. "No, I'm going to dissect the bugger, find out what makes him tick."

"But he's not a clock."

Mycroft didn't even bother replying. He finished whittling in seconds and waddled into the river.

"Is High School fun?"

"Up until you get exams, yeah, it's pretty cool," Mycroft shrugged. "And it's pretty fun until they force you into deciding what you want to do with your life."

"What do you want to do with your life?"

"Oh my god, twenty questions much?"

"What are 20 questions?"

Mycroft turned to stare at his brother. "You're an idiot." He said.

"No, I'm not!" He replied.

Mycroft gave a haughty laugh. "Prove it."

"How?"

Mycroft sniffed and looked around. He then found what he was looking for. He pointed over to a mother walking her pram around the park. "There. Tell me her story,"

Sherlock squinted. "Well… She's a mom."

"Nope."

Sherlock frowned. "Um… She's not walking all that fast."

"Better."

"She must have had her kid recently, then."

"Wrongo!"

Sherlock pouted. "Alright. What is her story?"

Mycroft shifted and sniffed. "She's sixteen years old, no wedding ring and she bears no marks of ever having a child. The pram she is pushing is apparently empty. So no child. But her mother has had one recently, at least her friend. The model of that pram is fairly new. She looks as if she has been crying. She's living on her own because there is some toothpaste on her cheek that no one has told her about. Conclusion; her mother and probably her younger brother were involved in an accident that probably killed them. She is experiencing grief so it must have been in the last couple of weeks. Ergo, she is the daughter of Irena Philips who was killed two weeks ago in a car crash along with her young son."

Sherlock stared at his brother as he tried to catch a orange fish that swam by his feet.

"Shit," He muttered.

"Were you making that up?" Sherlock asked.

"Nope,"

"Then how do you know that the pram was empty?"

"She's pushing it way too easily. If there was a child in there, then she would have difficulty pushing it over that puddle."

"She might be using it for shop-lifting!"

"Honestly Sherlock, not everything in life is bad." Mycroft replied. He struck hard into the river catching a large ugly brown fish.

"How can I be sure that you weren't just making it up?" Sherlock asked.

"Because you know when I make up crap," Mycroft replied, tossing the fish back into the water.

"Why did you throw it away?" Sherlock asked.

"Because, you have to be beautiful in life as well as intelligent to get ahead in life," His brother said. Sherlock was confused at this, but Mycroft said no more. He hit down hard on a yellow fish and sighed.

**Reviews are welcomed. **


	7. Chapter 7

**Aged 16 Years old**

She was… Extraordinary.

I swear I have never seen someone quite like her. Her face was infinitely the most beautiful I had ever come across. There was little to describe her but absolutely amazing. She danced happily on the street without her shoes on, her beautiful red dress and dark red hair that was swept up from her porcelain face. Her scarf fell freely from her pocket and her coat flapped happily around the calves of her legs.

She spun around the lamppost, completely absorbed in her own little world. Laughing away at whatever had caught her fancy. She crashed into me as I watched her.

"Oops," She giggled. "Sorry,"

I helped her up. "No, sorry, it's my fault. I was… I was…"

She grinned. "Admiring me, were you sir?" She did a little curtsy.

"Umm…"

"You were weren't you?" She grinned. "Well… I wouldn't blame you. I am rather magnificent."

"Umm…"

"Sherlock Holmes right?"

"Umm… yeah… How…"

"Your notes," She pointed at the books I was holding. "It's a curious name isn't it? It's a bit odd."

"It's my name, I never really thought of it like that…" I murmured, growing red.

"Oh look at you getting all embarrassed." She grinned. "Aw, you're so cute,"

I felt my cheeks growing even hotter as her grin grew even wider. "I've been called many things before. Cute isn't one of them,"

"So what do people call you? Usually I mean."

"A fucking know-it-all cunt," I shrugged.

"You don't know everything," She said spinning.

"You'd be surprised." I muttered.

"Go on then," She said as she stopped spinning.

I sighed. "Well, you're younger than me, with size 6 feet. You have a father but no mother. You're father is away for long periods of time leaving you on your own. You have a grandmother but you feel it is unnecessary to stay with her now that you're sixteen. You have at least one sibling, maybe two and you struggle with your eyesight, but can still see. So that must mean you're long sighted. Yet you didn't see me. So I can only assume that you ran into me on purpose. To get me talking. I'm not sure why…"

"You're good. You concluded I had a grandmother, because of the knitted scarf, that I didn't live with her because it hasn't been cleaned in a while, the fact that I have a younger brother who is tall for his age because he splattered ink onto the scarf. My eyesight because specs I have tucked in my jacket and that my mother is dead because I'm wearing her old wedding ring around my finger. Clever. Well done." She spun a little."So, what's my name?" She asked.

"Um… I…" I scratched my neck. "I…"

She grinned, outstretching her arm. "It's Irene. Irene Adler."

Confused I took her hand and kissed it gently. She laughed a little. "Are you stuck in the nineteenth century?" She asked. "We shake hands now, regardless of gender."

I blushed. "I'm sorry. I don't get out that much." I muttered.

"I can see that," She replied. "Wanna come to my house?"

"I can't," I muttered, straightening my books. "I have things to do…"

"No,"

"What?"

"It's not that you 'can't' come. It's the fact that you don't want to come."

"No," I said. "I do, but…"

"But…"

"I'm afraid I can't."

"Yes,"

"What?"

"You're definitely afraid of something," She said. "You're afraid that you'll be punished if you come away with me tonight,"

"Ms Irene," I said. "I just can't."

"Please?" She asked. "It isn't fun on your own."

"What isn't?"

Irene frowned. "Well, life in general. But I like you Sherlock Holmes. I think you're interesting. Please come with me."

"I don't… Mycroft is coming home from university tonight."

"So? See him tomorrow," She said.

"I can't,"

"Please?" She said. "It'll be fun."

"What will be fun?"

"Come with me and find out," She said, beckoning me with her finger. She took my hand and lead me away into the night.

…

"Have you ever drank before?" She asked holding out a bottle of Morgan Spice Whiskey.

"I used to drink with Marie." I muttered.

"Marie. Your girlfriend?"

"Friend." I replied.

"Anything good?"

"Just wine,"

"Oh that's no good," She bit open the cork and drank heavily. "Here, it's good,"

I took a sip and grimaced at the taste.

"Mm." She said. "Maybe it's an acquired taste."

"Perhaps," I replied, setting the drink down beside me. "Is this where you live?" I asked looking around the dark trailer.

"Yeah, got a problem with it?" She asked.

"How do you get this stuff?" I asked, looking around at the impressive wealth of objects that she owned.

"Bartering," She shrugged. "Anything to get me by. But you're not going to tell anyone aren't you?" She smiled. "Nah… You won't would you?"

She swooped down and kissed me on the cheek, sitting on my lap. Her legs either side of my waist, she fumbled around lazily with my hair. She pulled me into a passionate kiss and I felt my entire world explode into fire. She tossed her hair playfully twisting her fingers around my shirt.

"No!" I muttered, pushing her off. I stood up and began to pace.

"Do you not want me?" She asked, a little insulted.

"No."

"Then what's wrong?"

I sat down. "I've never known someone quite like you. It just feels a little…"

"I thought all men were supposed to be obsessed with sex," Irene said.

"Trust me," I said. "We are. But I barely know you,"

She smiled understandingly. "I guess you're right." She said. "Hold on, I have something that might lighten the mood," She stood up and began dancing away into her bedroom. Feeling stupid, I picked the whiskey and took another swig of it. It was bitter to the taste and burned my tongue. I put it down and wiped my mouth on my sleeve.

Irene bounded back into the room her face curiously happy. She held out a small clear plastic bag in which little white tabs sat at the bottom.

"What's that?" I asked stupidly.

"Oh Sherlock, you really have been living on another world, haven't you?" She sighed. "This is LSD."

"LSD?" I asked. "Drugs?"

"You sound angry,"

I stood up again. "I can tolerate drink, but I can't tolerate drugs,"

"C'mon," She urged.

"No." I straightened up picking up my coat. "I can't. I'm sorry." I turned to leave her trailer park home at the door she called out to me.

"What would your father do if he found out that you were here and not staying at your friend's house?" She called.

I paused staring at the door, my hand closed around the doorknob.

"Then I'll sleep out in the garden," I said flatly.

"Again?" Irene stood up. "Haven't you suffered enough? Isn't it time that you had some fun?"

"Fun is for the weak who cannot find something better to do with their lives." I replied hotly.

"You don't believe that," Irene said. "Do you Sherlock?"

"I do."

"Then why haven't you left?" She asked. "Come back. Sit with me. Be with me. We're both lonely creatures. Let's be lonely together."

I stood staring at my hand. Why wouldn't it open the door? Irene took my hand and kissed it gently. "Come with me Sherlock," She whispered. "Be with me."

**Reviews are welcome.**


	8. Chapter 8

I pulled him away from the shop, laughing at the cold air. We stopped staggered and laughed at each other, our breath freezing. Sherlock leaned against the wall and I did a little spin.

"Holy fuck," He cried, trying to catch his breath.

"Told ya it was a rush," I grabbed the back of his neck, pulling him into a passionate kiss. His lips like fire, he didn't refuse her embrace. I pulled apart.

"What do we do now?" He asked curiously.

I grinned, kissing my neck. "Oh, Sherlock." I muttered. "You sweet innocent little thing…" I took him by the lips again, jumping around his waist. Holding me carefully, we rolled onto the grass.

"Irene," Sherlock whispered.

"Yeah?" I asked.

"You're the best thing that's ever happened to me," He muttered.

I looked over at him with and sighed, pulling myself away. I pulled up the strap to my dress. Sherlock sat up curiously as I looked away from him.

"Irene?" He asked. "What's wrong?"

I kept looking away from him. "You shouldn't say those sort of things Sherlock. Not unless you mean them."

"But, I do mean it," He said, edging towards me.

"No, Sherlock," I said. "Don't,"

He sighed. "Irene, please look at me." I sighed and looked over at him, eyes filled with tears. Carefully he wiped away the tear on my cheek with his thumb. "Why are you crying?" He asked.

"Because…" I wiped tears from my cheek with my arm. "Because, Sherlock. I'm not a nice person. I'm a terrible. I really am. And I've… I've…"

Sherlock sat closer to me. "Irene. You're not a bad person."

"How do you know?" I cried. "We've only known each other a couple of weeks!"

"Irene," He said, grasping my shoulders. "Irene, look at me."

I blinked through the glassy tears that now encapsulated my vision completely. "You're not a bad person – please, let me finish. You have shown me the world. You've shown me what makes it work and how to get around the system,"

"Sherlock, I'm a crook!"

"You're a teenager! All teenagers are stupid!" He replied. "Irene, I mean it, you really are the best person I know."

"Yeah, drugs, sex, drink… They make me one of God's Angels," I said.

"Please, I listen to me." He kissed me. "You're so good to me. You are the most amazing person I've ever known. You really are."

"Sherlock…"

"Please Irene." He muttered, touching my cheek. "You are…" A kiss to my cheek. "So…" A kiss to my forehead. "Good to…" A kiss to my lips. "Me…" I pulled him around by the neck, holding him close. I kissed him back, slowly at first, but building as we found each other in loneliness.

We parted, breathing heavily. "I think we should go home," I muttered.

"I don't want to,"

"Sherlock, you're dad'll be pissed,"

Sherlock pulled away, his face sombre. "I don't care what he does to me anymore,"

"No," I pushed him off. "Go home. See your brother." I stood up. He sighed.

"Yeah." He stopped and stared at me.

"What?" I asked.

"I need to…" Sherlock sighed. "I need you to help me."

"What's wrong?"

"It's my dad."

"I know he's a cunt but ya gotta live with it." I said.

"Irene," He grabbed my shoulders, his eyes on fire with a fresh flame. "Please."

"Sherlock, what could he possible do to you that you need to run from each night?" I asked.

Sherlock said nothing. His eyes flickered for a second. "You're right," He muttered. "I deserve what I get from him."

"What? No. Sherlock, I never said that!"

"Do you think that I deserve this?" He asked, pulling down his shirt from his collar. He thrust out his arm. On his shoulder was a circular mark.

"What's that?" I asked.

He paused, realising what he was doing. He pulled his shirt over his shoulder and looked away.

"Sherlock, answer me!"

He stared at his feet. "I'm sorry," he muttered. "I should… I should go…"

"Sherlock!"

He sighed and took off, running away from me. "SHERLOCK!"


	9. Chapter 9

**21 Years Old**

Cocaine.

A 7% solution. Harmless to the vital organs if taken in proportion. But an excellent stimulant nonetheless.

With shaking nervous hands Sherlock placed the syringe back into the velvet case from whence it came. He leaned back on the bed, waiting for the rush.

Colours flooded into his senses. Suddenly he could hear the rouge sing, the black mourn and the yellow ponder.

Exhilarated, he caught his breath. Breathing hard, he looked down at his newspaper. The words blurred on the page and a messy solution of neon lit up his sight.

He began to laugh feverishly as it took hold of him. The constant memory of being attacked; relived and Sherlock was ecstatic by it. The memory of his father's fist…

The broken window…

… Glass everywhere…

The cold uncaring darkness.

Sherlock sat, shaking for a second. Blinking. He wiped his cheeks. They were wet.

He laughed out. He laughed out as he remembered. He laughed out as he remembered his father's pain. He laughed out when he remembered his father's pain when he, Sherlock, his own son had confronted him about the affair.

He laughed as he remembered his mother crying at the rug and father for once sober, standing over her, shouting at Sherlock.

"_You've ruined everything… It was a happy marriage…How could you do this to your mother?"_

Sherlock bit his fist, goose-pimples rising on his skin. His hysterical laughter turned into sharp throbbing sobs as he felt himself collapse into his own world.


	10. Chapter 10

**31 years old**

This had her name all over it. I leaned over the paper clipping staring at the photograph. It was definitely her work. She was probably the lawyer. Lestrade stood a little away from me.

"Well?" He asked.

"I need a new filing case," I muttered.

"Beg your pardon?" He asked.

I sat up straight and turned my attention towards the inspector. "I said, I'm sorry, Detective. But I feel that I can't help you here."

"But you… You're Sherlock Holmes!" Lestrade cried.

I stood up, "Yes, any other amazing deductions you would like to make?"

"Why aren't you helping us?" He demanded.

"Because," I said simply. "Because it is too easy. I don't know why you didn't solve it yourself Lestrade, save you the Taxi fare. No, I can't waste my time fluttering over simple matters as insurance swindles,"

"Insurance Swindles?"

"Do you need to write this down?"

"No, I'll remember."

"You sure? I speak fast and do not suffer fools gladly,"

"Sherlock!"

"Alright," I tucked the newspaper clipping into my breast pocket and walked over to my large stack of London Times that sat in the corner of the room. Smiling slightly, I lifted Yorik and placed him gently on the mantel.

"That's a skull…"

"Well done Lestrade those medical students you've been teaching won't know what hit them when you walk in on Monday morning and are able to point out what is the skull and what is the femur. Now… Where did I put it?" I shifted the top papers, before remembering that it was probably right at the bottom. Sighing, I ducked down trying to allocate the correct one. There! I fumbled about and pulled the paper out. The rest of them toppled over with an almighty crash. I stared at the mess on the floor.

"Ah,"

"Shouldn't you clean that up?" Lestrade asked.

"No."

"Right,"

I flicked open the pages and selected one. "There!" I cried triumphantly.

"'Doctor Who to return to TV next year,'" Lestrade read.

I sighed, exasperated. "Under that!"

"Oh," Lestrade squinted.

"Oh really Lestrade," I said. "Buy some glasses. Or at least get laser surgery."

"Sherlock!"

"Right," I cleared my throat. "'Mr Barry MacKenzie is taking his estranged wife Elsie MacKenzie to court over a battle with the expenses she tried to steal from him. Mr MacKenzie is a well respected solicitor in London fought for over forty years to try and stop his wife from claiming expenses to his company. Mrs MacKenzie worked for 16 years at the company as her husbands secretary. Her expenses reached from as little as £6 for stamps to over £4000 in travelling expenses.'"

"Insurance Swindle?" Lestrade asked. "She was killed, not him."

"Oh dear lord!" I sighed. "She placed all the money she saved into a secret life insurance coverage, to be given to her sons when she died. After the expense scandal was unearthed she had to find new ways of getting money. So she decided to sell her prized possession. A diamond necklace given to her by her husband on their honeymoon. He found out and went insane, and in his fit of rage, he shot her."

"That's… how did I not notice that there was an expense scandal?"

"Oh that was a while ago." I said. "Was it not given away by the blatantly obvious fact that Doctor Who would be returning to the small screen."

"Um…"

"Honestly Lestrade,"

"Alright, no need to be so cruel,"

"There's cruelty and there's necessity," I replied. "Please, leave."

"Can I have the –"

"No,"

Lestrade sighed. "Alright. Bee in your bonnet. I'll see you soon."

I gave him a curt nod and turned my back. He sighed, tapped his feet annoyingly for a few seconds then closed the door behind him. I looked out from the curtain watching him get into the police car and drive off. Slowly I made my way to my room, pulling out a green folder. Thumbing it slowly, I opened to the last page I had left off.

Carefully I pinned the newspaper clipping onto the page, my finger tracing over the photo of her sweet face. As perfect as the day we met each other.

The photo, if you are wondering, was taken shortly after my 17th birthday. It was me and her together. She was so high that day. We had such a night. Endless cigarettes and apple vodka. She had worn that green polka dot dress


	11. Chapter 11

**1989**

Carl Powers.

There was something curious about the whole death that made Sherlock suspicious. Apparently the boy had had a seizure whilst swimming in the pool during his championship qualifier. They tried pulling him out but by time they did, he had drowned.

Now, it would appear to be an open and shut case. Why would it be anything else?

Sherlock peered over the policeman's shoulder, cursing his height. As they set up the perimeters to launch an enquiry, Sherlock slipped behind the tape.

It was quick, no more than a few seconds. Sherlock opened Powers locker and peered inside.

Jacket.

Jeans.

Towel.

Shirt.

There was something missing though.

"Oi!" A policeman bellowed.

"Shit," Sherlock muttered. He looked up drearily at the officer. "Yes?"

"What you doing in here? Eh? This is for police work only!" The Policeman glared at Sherlock. "Now, go find your mother. I suspect you ran off from her."

Sherlock cleared his voice and straightened up. "Sir," He said very clearly. "I do find that your mannerisms are quite distracting. As you can see, I'm busy,"

The Policeman was taken aback by this.

"Alright, what's you're game?"

"Sir I have no game." Sherlock replied. "Might I ask, where have you taken Mr Powers shoes?"

"We ain't touched none of Mr Powers stuff." He said. "Now, go!"

"But his shoes are missing! Don't you think that's a bit odd?"

"That's not your job."

"Would you look at his locker? Shirt, socks, towel, jeans, jacket – but his shoes are missing!"

"How old are you?"

Sherlock blinked. "13," He said.

"Right…" The officer said slowly.

"It doesn't matter!" Sherlock snapped. "His shoes are missing!"

"Let's get you home-"

"Listen to me!" Sherlock said brutally, fighting off the officer's hand as he tried to grab his elbow to lead him away. "Just look at him, really look! It's blatantly obvious!"

"Hold on," The Officer replied.

"Thank you," Sherlock said.

The Officer stood for a minute, and then pressed the little button on his radio. "Burton?"

"_Yep?"_

"I got a little punk here. He's telling us how to do our jobs,"

"_So? Beat the cunt up!"_

Sherlock gave out a little groan and kicked the lockers.

"Oi!" The officer said.

"Oh shut up," Sherlock replied. "I'm going!"


	12. Chapter 12

**24 years old**

Mycroft set down a dinner spread. Sherlock watched with a curious expression on his face.

"Now," Mycroft hissed. "Remember to keep your mouth shut,"

"Yes Mycroft," Sherlock replied dryly. "You've been whispering it in my ear every second for the last three days."

"This is an important Sherlock, don't embarrass yourself, she is highly intelligent."

"I never get embarrassed,"

"Well, you'll embarrass me."

"Please, when do I ever embarrass you?"

"When do you not?"

"Oh below the belt,"

"Oh shut up, do you want her back or not?"

Sherlock sniffed and straightened his tie, wanting a cigarette. Mycroft stared at his brother for a moment then pulled a tiny white packet from his suit pocket. "Here."

Sherlock caught the packet and looked at it for a second. "Nicotine patches?" He asked.

"It's not healthy, Sherlock," Mycroft shrugged.

"Yeah, I'm going to use these straight away!" Sherlock said sarcastically, tucking it into his pocket.

"Remember, keep-"

"My mouth shut," Sherlock concluded. "Yes, yes Mycroft, now will you please get the door?"

Mycroft slapped Sherlock around the head assuming his authority over him. Sherlock sighed and rubbed his neck.

"Well that was mature!" He said.

"Sherlock!"

"Door, Mycroft!" Sherlock replied.

Mycroft left for a moment, leaving Sherlock. He picked up one of the silver forks and held it to his eye. Sold Silver. Royal Imperial make. Late…. 1870's, with the MacIntosh crest on the handle. Most likely explanation: Mycroft had bought them at an auction.

Mycroft returned after a minute, folding up an impressive jacket. He gentle placed a hand on a young woman's back and led her into the dining room. Sherlock looked at her with eager eyes taking in everything and anything.

"Well, who is this?" She asked.

Mycroft stiffened. "This is my brother Sherlock. Sherlock, meet Lynda Grant."

Sherlock stood up nervously and shook her hand. "Mycroft is so rude. If I had known this was more of a… Personal affair, I would not be here."

Lynda smiled. "Oh," She turned to Mycroft. "Were you hoping that it would be a more intimate affair?"

Mycroft cleared his throat. "Please have a seat." He said ignoring her question.

Lynda sat down opposite Sherlock and spread a napkin over her lap. "So, my dear friend, what are we having tonight?"

Mycroft gave a small grin. "All shall be revealed."

Lynda clasped her hands together. "Now, what is this all about Mycroft?"

Mycroft slapped Sherlock's hand away from the garlic bread as he sat down. "A personal favour if you don't mind."

"Intriguing." Lynda said, taking a sip of the wine. "Mm… Lovely. Vintage I assume?"

"You assume correctly." Sherlock said. "

"Sherlock, hush." Mycroft said.

"Sorry about my brother, but it seems rather redundant that he should ask me to be here and yet not allow me to speak a single word!" Sherlock said laughing haughtily.

"That is strange." Lynda said. "Care to explain, Mycroft?"

Mycroft cleared his throat."The favour, Lynda," He said ignoring the question. "We need your help."

"The fantastic, intelligent Mycroft Holmes, needs my help? I find that hard to believe."

"Technically it is not I who needs the help." Mycroft replied. "Sherlock's friend is missing."

"Then check police records. You know I have no business with missing persons."

"Yes but you know every visitor and every citizen who has left this country, where they have went and why," Mycroft said. "And my brother needs you,"

Lynda looked over at Sherlock. "Well, tell me about her."

Sherlock said nothing but tapped his plate. "Mycroft, should dinner be here by now?" He asked.

"In a moment," His brother replied.

Sherlock sighed and leaned back against the back of his chair.

Lynda gave a little grin and leaned forward. "Sherlock, I can't exactly help you if you refuse to tell me about her."

"Mycroft has kind of restricted my speech," Sherlock shrugged. "Why don't you get him to tell you about her?"

Lynda looked over at Mycroft who sighed. He set down his napkin as the waiter came around and set a few bowls of soup on the table.

"Personal waiters? Nice." She said.

"Hired for the night. I am not as rich as I care to seem."

"Ah, pity," Lynda dipped a breadstick into the soup and nibbled into it happily. She looked up at Sherlock. "Not eating are you?"

"I don't eat when I have something on my mind," Sherlock replied.

"Your friend?"

"One of the matters on my mind,"

"Well tell me about her."

"She and Sherlock have been good friends for a number of years." Mycroft supplemented. "She is as she, seems a bit of a rascal. But she has all but disappeared. She apparently is far too arrogant to commit suicide, too smart to have been killed so the most obvious explanation is for her to have left the country."

"Oh… So why don't you search for her?"

"Mycroft has got it into his head that relations of a diplomatic matter will find her more easily. Plus, he seems to think that I need a job more than I need her," Sherlock replied looking over at his brother. "Careful Mycroft, we don't want you to put all that weight on again."

Mycroft looked up from the plate of soup, his mouth full of garlic bread. He swallowed. "Sherlock keep private matters off the table."

"Only if you manage to keep you stomach from reaching your knees." Sherlock bit back.

Mycroft laughed lowly. One of the waiters entered and whispered something in Mycroft's ear. He sat there for a moment then sighed. "Please excuse me. Something is wrong with the menu," He put his napkin on the table and stood up. "Sherlock, please don't say anything out of context."

"As long as you don't-"

"I get it Sherlock, I'm fat." Mycroft said wearily. He sighed and followed the waiter out of the room.

"So this girl." Lynda said. "Tell me about her."

"No."

"Why not?"

"I fear you will be met with teenage fantasies and the like." Sherlock replied. "Besides, I'd prefer to know all about you,"

Lynda smiled. "The brother of Mycroft Holmes. Do you have the same skills as him?"

"Depends what you mean by 'skills'," Sherlock said.

"I think you know what I mean,"

Sherlock leaned forward shifting his chair. "You're rich."

"Well done."

"You own a small fortune of shares on the Caribbean islands in which you spend most of your time there. You have one brother about fifteen years younger than you but it's not likely he had the same parents because you're wearing your mother's engagement ring. Thus your father remarried and he is your half-brother. You don't like him that much but you feel it's necessary to spend time with him as a role model. Perhaps he is getting into things you would rather keep him safe from. It can't be alcohol because you yourself have a distinguished taste for wine, nor can it be cigarettes, for you have nicotine stains between your fingers. So it must be something extremely terrible. You have several degrees and are proud of that. Your husband recently walked out on you, but you've suffered at his hands for a while so you are somewhat relieved of this. You initially had plans to have children but when your husband left you, you decided to abort your unborn foetus. Why would you do that? Unless you didn't want anything more to do with him… There. He had an affair didn't he and you were too fed up of it to even try anymore. Now you're looking for love and have possibly found it on internet dating." Sherlock looked over at Lynda once more, happy with his conclusions.

"Well, aren't you special." Lynda said. "Haven't you decided what you want to do with your life?"

"No, otherwise I wouldn't be sitting here." Sherlock replied.

"Mm, interesting. Have you ever considered working with the police? Not as community officer. No you have too much talent for that. What about going into private police work?" Lynda asked.

Sherlock looked away. "Like that's gonna happen."

"You have a gift. Somewhat, like you brothers, but more… Elegant. Where he uses it to humiliate people you could use it to help people. Isn't that what you want to do? I remember your brother telling me that you were interested in getting into medicine."

"Medicine holds no interest for me." Sherlock said.

"Don't let it go to waste Sherlock," Lynda said.

Mycroft re-entered the room and sat down looking between his two guests. "I hope Sherlock hasn't embarrassed himself."

"Quite the opposite. He has proved himself quite the character."

"I see." Mycroft said. "Now, to the main reason I brought you here tonight-"

"Ah yes the girl." Lynda said, wiping her mouth. "Tell me her name."

"Irene Alder." Sherlock said.

"Oh,"

"What?"

"I'm sorry, but Irene Alder's body was found burned after a fire in a library up in Edinburgh. We found her details amongst her person."

Sherlock stared at his untouched soup and smiled. "Yeah, that sounds like Irene."


	13. Chapter 13

Heaving, I leaned over the toilet bowl. Breathing heavily and feeling as if my throat was on fire, I choked up a little. I could feel Mycroft's eyes on the back of my head as he leaned against the doorframe. My hand reached for the flush, shaking.

"Are you alright?"

"Fuck off, Mycroft," I said.

Mycroft put his hands under my arms and lifted me up; slowly he pulled me from the bathroom and into the small box room where a bed sat. Marie looked up from her hands which she twisted in apprehension. She stood up as she saw me stagger to the bed. "Are you alright?" She asked.

"I would be a lot better if I didn't need to do this," I snapped.

"It's the DT's," Mycroft explained.

"DT's?"

"Mycroft, my wonderful brother decided that I should detox." I said. "Instead of taking me off one at a time, he decided to ban me from the entire selection."

"All of it?"

"Oh, yes. All of it. The drugs, the alcohol and even cigarettes." I said. "Might I add," I thrust out my arm and let Mycroft see the nicotine patch. "These do not work!"

"They're the best on the market." Mycroft snapped.

"Well your market is shit."I replied. "Find a new market. Preferably one with Jack Daniels and a fresh blend of rough shag!"

This was met with a smack around the head. Only it wasn't Mycroft. Marie stood there with a dark expression on her face. "You will do what you're told, you ignorant fuck." She said. "You're are doing this to get somewhere in your stupid life and if you can't deal with that, then Mycroft and I have no business here."

I stared at her. "I'm sorry," I muttered. "My head's just killing me."

"I'll get you some asprin," Marie said.

"Don't." Mycroft said. "Sherlock knows that if taken enough prescription pills, but not enough to kick the bucket as it were, you can get high off of them."

"For fucks sake Mycroft!" I cried.

"He learnt that off Irene."

"Would you shut up?"

"You told me you had stopped seeing her." Marie said folding her arms.

"I did!" I moaned. "… Well technically she left."

"She dumped you?"

"No she literally left." I replied.

"Where'd she go?"

I shrugged. "I don't know! She's very hard to find when she doesn't want to be found."

"We've enlisted help," Mycroft said handing me a glass of water.

"She'll come back." I said. "She always does."

"I thought we were going out."

"Marie, it was a week. And it was only because…" I quickly shut up and put the glass to my aching temple.

Marie looked away. "You men are idiots." She said.

"I think my wife would agree with that," Mycroft replied.

"I know Irene would," I muttered. "Help me up."

"Why?"

"Just do it!" I bellowed feeling the sick rise to my throat. Mycroft grabbed me and pulled me up. Staggering I managed to reach the toilet before throwing up noisily.


	14. Chapter 14

**18 years old**

"Alright..." He began to pace, a pair of specs on his nose staring at my file. I watched him curious as to why he had them so low. "Alright... Alright... Alright..."

"Sir?" I said. "I'm rather busy at the moment. Can we not make this a short meeting?"

Professor Harwick sat down, pushing the file onto the desk. He sighed and clasped his hands. "Mr Holmes, your behaviour has been despicable over your entire educational career here. This is a prestigious school, to which your brother made the highest recommendations for you. Yet you seem to waste your time swaning around this place pretending that you are going to get what you want when you want."

"Your point sir?" I asked picking up the letter opener and tapping it against my knuckle. Harwick stood up and took the letter opener from me.

"Sherlock," He said, trying to sound all comforting and fatherly. "You're a bright lad. And you could go really far in life if you took things seriously." Then he did the head tilt. "Now, is everything okay at home?"

"er..."

"Because I have met your father and he doesn't seem like a pleasant man."

"Well aren't you the little detective?" I muttered.

"What did you say?"

"I said 'He's alright'" I replied.

Harwick leaned back. "Right..."

I sighed. "Sir, what did you call me in for, really? Because I doubt that you wanted to give me a pep talk."

"No, you're right. I can't give you pep talks anymore. You're not in high school." Harwick said. "All I can tell you one thing." He sat back down on his leather chair. "Either buck up your ideas or you're out of this university."

I looked up at him. "You can't be serious."

"I am. Deadly. Serious." Harwick replied. "Now get out."

A little stunned I stood up.

"Oh," Harwick said as if remembering something. "Please tell your friend Ms Irene Adler, that if she does break into the school again to see you, I will call the police."

"For coming to see me?" I asked.

"No, for breaking into my office and stealing the test papers for the Social Science class next month." Harwick replied. "I know it was her. She has a reputation in this area and as far as I know... You two are an item."

I nodded.

"Well, another word of advice," He said. "She is not good company. Get out while you still can. She will poison that brilliant mind of yours and we can't have that."

I looked away.

"Of course, you're not going to listen." He sighed. "Alright. Be on your way Mr. Holmes."

"Thank you sir." I muttered, slamming the door behind me.


	15. Chapter 15

**still detoxing**

Mycroft pulled Sherlock from the toilet. His little brother's face was drenched with cold sweat as he fell against his suit. A little spit fell from his lips, but he was too exhausted to wipe it away. Mycroft sighed, pitying Sherlock.

"C'mon you," He said, putting his shoulder underneath Sherlock's arm. "Bed."

"Fuck off, Mycroft," Sherlock murmured wearily. "I'm not a child."

"Really because only children act on their stupid little impulses." Mycroft snapped. He hauled him up and helped him to the tiny bed. Marie had fallen asleep beside mattress. Her head snapped up.

"I'm awake." She muttered.

Mycroft sighed. "It's alright. Sherlock needs some rest."

"Oh for-"

"If you swear again I will beat you to an inch of your life." Mycroft interrupted. "Marie go home."

"But..."

"Now!"

Marie staggered to her feet, grabbing her large coat. Rubbing her eyes she kissed Sherlock's forehead and left. Mycroft let his brother fall across the bed. He lay there shivering in cold sweat as pain ripped through him.

"How are you feeling?" He asked gently. "And don't swear."

"Mycroft, if I was to explain to you how much you're fucking killing me-"

"Sherlock!"

"Oh would you fuck off!" Sherlock shouted. "Just go away! You stupid bastard!"

Mycroft stared at his brother. "I'm doing this for your own good."

"Oh please not this again!" Sherlock moaned holding his stomach as abdominal pain shot through him. He shivered uncontrollably. "I don't need your fucking help. Alright? I was fine the way I was living!"

"Yeah, no job, no money, no degrees. Addicted to booze, drugs and cigarettes. No girlfriend cause she left you, no mother because you disappointed her. Yeah you're doing swimmingly. Sherlock you're one step away from becoming a guest on the fucking Jeremy Kyle show!"

"Now who's swearing...?" Sherlock said.

"Shut up," Mycroft said. "You said you wanted to sort your life out. And I vowed that I would help you to the best degree. I'm honouring that. Unlike you who seems to think it's ok to go back on a promise."

"How dare you!" Sherlock sat up before more pain. He fell back onto the bed. "Why would you dare bring that up here and now?"

"Because," Mycroft said. "because... Never mind. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have mentioned it."

"Too right you shouldn't have," Sherlock murmured. "Cold."

"Let me get you another blanket then." Mycroft said. He stood up and reached under the bed. He brought out a thick quilt and threw it over Sherlock's weary body.

He smiled a little. "Now, how are you feeling?"

"Well Mycroft, my head is splitting, my stomach has lost all its food content and now I'm spitting up acid. I'm cold, I miss cigarettes, I miss bloody alcohol. And can I not have a bloody glass of water?"

Mycroft poured a glass. "You don't miss the drugs?" he asked.

Sherlock took the water and drank deeply. He sighed slowly. "No. I don't."

"Why do you think that is?" Mycroft asked.

His little brother sighed. "I don't know. I guess I was never really – bucket."

"What?"

"Bucket!"

Mycroft grabbed a red plastic bucket and held it to Sherlock's face. Heaving he threw up noisily into it. Mycroft turned away. Sherlock coughed up the left and fell back against the pillow. Mycroft took the bucket from him.

"You alright?"

"What do you think?" Sherlock replied weakly.

"Yeah, stupid question." He stood up.

"Where are you going?" Sherlock asked.

"Well it's obvious that you don't want me here." He shrugged. "Better go before you pull a gun on me."

"Mycroft..."

"Yeah, I'm going,"

"No, Mycroft..."

Mycroft looked down at his brother who was still shivering. "Yes?" He drawled.

"Please don't leave me." Sherlock whispered.

Shocked at this very human emotion, Mycroft stared at his brother. He nodded and sat back down.

"Mycroft?" Sherlock whispered.

"Yeah?"

Sherlock began to slip from reality and began to enter his dreams. "... Why doesn't dad like us...?"

Mycroft smiled sadly at his brother. "Don't know," He said.


	16. Chapter 16

**25 years old**

Marie rolled over and stared at me with her bright inquisitive eyes. "So. Do you miss her?"

"Who?" I asked.

"Irene." She asked.

I took a moment to get over the shock. "You know she's missing?"

"Sherlock, honey, you've looked so lost these past few months I think it's easy to see. Plus, I haven't seen her trademark floating around in a while." Marie smiled. "So where do you think she's gone?"

"Could be anywhere. She once told me that she always wanted to meet the King of Bulgaria."

"Why would she want to meet the king of Bulgaria?"

"How am I supposed to know?"

"You know everything."

"No, not everything," I argued.

"True."

"What?"

"I think you're right."

"You just abandon your argument?" I asked incredulously. "Why?"

She sighed and rolled onto her back staring up at the moving stars of the planetarium. Her face shone with the dazzling of a million lights spread across her pale complexion. I sat up, leaning on my left arm, staring at this beauty. "Doesn't matter." She replied.

"If it matters with you then it matters with me." I said. "Money troubles again?"

"That, and…" her voice trailed off. Her pretty blue eyes stared up at me. She blinked looking away.

"Marie? You alright?" I asked.

"Fine." She said.

"I know someone who can get you a job." I said.

"For the one thousandth time. I am not becoming a stripper."

"You sure? There's good money in it."

"Positive." She said. "Besides, what would I even call myself?"

"Huh?" I asked, picking at the dirt under my nails.

"Well, strippers have stage names, but I've never had a nickname in my life."

"What about Candy… But with a "k" instead of a "C"." I suggested.

"Boring."

"Miss Vodka Shots?" I suggested.

She gave me a look which said "NO". I sat up a little straighter. "Alright, alright… What about…" My voice trailed off. "Well what do you think?"

"Sherlock, I am not becoming a stripper." She said flatly.

"Like I said, you'd get good money for it." I shrugged. "What about that name people used to call you when you were little?"

"Sabrina?" She asked.

"Yeah, that." I said.

"I dunno Sherlock," She said. "I don't want to taint a childhood thing with something so impure. Wait, what am I talking about? I am not becoming a stripper."

"Really 'cause you've got the body."

"Cheers." She said sarcastically.

"Why do you do that?" I asked.

"Do what?" She asked in turn.

"Put yourself down like that?" I said. "You never seem to be able to accept yourself for who you are,"

She lay there silent for a moment. Then when Jupiter rose onto the stars she began to speak. "Because the one guy that I've fallen for seems to be completely ignorant of the fact that I love him."

"And that equals you not good enough?" I asked.

"Well, yeah. Seeing how he seems to be in love with this woman who is let's just say a minx." Marie shrugged.

Then it hit me. "Oh." I said.

She looked up. "Yeah. Sorry."

"Oh," I stood up, unable to think. She stood up too.

"Sherlock-"

"Well, I can't say that I'm not flattered-"

"Sherlock-"

"- But I only ever thought of you as a friend-"

"Sherlock-"

"-I mean, I consider my work to be my world-"

This stopped her talking. She stared at me. "Work?" She asked. "What work? All you seem to do is get thrown out of most universities and depending on your brother to get by. Last time I looked you were detoxing from drugs and alcohol. You have never held down a 9-to-5 job for more than a week, unlike some people who can work their arses of their entire life and seem to go nowhere."

"Oh," I said.

She took my hands. "Sherlock, I don't want this fact to change who we are as friends. This is a crush, nothing else. It'll pass."

"How long has it been just a crush?" I asked.

Marie sighed. " Truthfully, just a year or so."

"That doesn't sound like a small thing," I said.

"Sherlock, please." She said, putting her fingers through mine. "I don't want to jeopardise something we know is good. Our friendship means more to me than… Working, the drugs, your brother – honestly does he wear a suit to bed?- Irene, money and even working in a strip club." She sighed. "I wish I had never said it."

"It's cool." I said. "Don't worry too much about it."

"Easy for you." She said. "You have girls falling onto their knees to get to you. I however have loved two men. Phil and you."

"You love...?"

"Shit." She muttered. "Forget it." She said. "Listen, what's the number for the guy at the club?"

I laughed and kissed her on the forehead. "You're amazing, you know that?" I said.

"Thanks." She said rolling her eyes. I sighed and wrapped my arms around her waist. She stretched and hugged me back. "Thank you for being you," She said.

I smiled. "Sure."


	17. Chapter 17

**Aged 17 Years old.**

"Sherlock, you cannot tell mother," Mycroft hissed.

Sherlock turned to his brother, distracted from his pacing, the photograph still clutched in his hand. His face fell. "Why not? She deserves to know what he has been doing. She deserves to know what kind of scumbag he is." He made a motion to the door. Mycroft stood up quickly and grabbed his brother's elbow, pulling him back into the room. "Alright, Mycroft," he said flatly. "You have my attention,"

Mycroft pushed Sherlock to sit on the bed. He shoved his hands in to his pockets. He kicked his feet and smiled thoughtfully.

"Do you honestly think you are cleverer than me?" He asked calmly. "Are you honestly arrogant enough to think – father is not the brightest bulb in the shop,"

Sherlock stared at Mycroft. "You... You knew?"

"Well of course I knew," Mycroft replied.

"For how long?"

"From the very beginning,"

"Then why didn't you say anything?" Sherlock challenged.

"Because you little prick," Mycroft snapped. "What difference would it make? He beat us up every night of our childhood. He hurt her too and she kept coming back to him. Do you not think that she would have left after he threatened us? She loves him, he can do no bloody wrong in her eyes. Telling her would break her heart."

"So am I just supposed to carry on like nothing has happened?"

"Sounds like a plan." Mycroft said. Sherlock looked away staring at his shoe laces. Mycroft sighed and let his hand hover in the air for a moment before letting it fall tentatively on his brother's shoulder. "The best thing you can do for yourself is to keep your head down and finish your exams. And after that you can move out and they won't be any of your concern."

"But what if he hurts her so badly she can't mend?" Sherlock asked.

"She chose this life with him. It is her own fault if she does not take the advice to get out," Mycroft replied.

Sherlock stared into empty space before leaping to his feet. "No, Mycroft! You can't say that,"

"I can and I will," Mycroft replied. "This is not of our concern."

"She's our mother!"

"Well didn't she do a fine damn job of raising us?" Mycroft bellowed. "Letting us get kicked about and destroying any chance we had to be happy human beings! Oh yeah, we turned out fine. A stupid doped up prick, half crazed and obsessed with the smallest stupid things and I can't keep my marriage afloat. Yeah we turned out fantastic!"

"You can't say that!"

"She destroyed us, Sherlock!" She gave us no chance! And only a fool would fail to recognise that." Mycroft shook his head. "When you're ready, come and join us for dinner." He stared at Sherlock then stood up. "Do not tell her." He said.

"You can't tell me what to d-"

"Oh for the love of almighty heaven and above," Mycroft fumed. "I do not need this from you. Especially not today," He stormed out of the room.

Sherlock sighed and fell back onto his bed. He pressed his pillow against his face and let out a loud groan. Something tapped against the window. Sherlock sprang to his feet and looked out into the white blanket of virgin snow covering his home. Irene's little porcelain face smiled at him. He breathed in relief and opened the window.

"Hey gorgeous," she said leaning up through the glass.

Sherlock grinned and kissed her lightly on the lips. "Where have you been?" He asked.

"Oh, out." She shrugged. "Did I not tell you? Oh well." She reached into her pocket and pulled something out. "Here. Merry Christmas," She handed it over to him. Sherlock smiled at the tiny package.

"Wait here." He said. Irene grinned and watched as Sherlock fumbled about looking for something. He then pulled a tiny film canister from his pillow and handed it to her.

She frowned slightly. "Um... Thanks?"

He grinned. "Open it."

Irene obliged. Out fell a tiny sapphire ring. "Oh... Sherlock."

"It was my grandmothers." Sherlock explained. "Now, I'm not asking you to marry me. That would be insane. What it is, is a promise ring."

"A promise ring?" Irene asked.

"It means that no matter what, I'll always be there for you, support you and love you." He said. "Go on try it on."

Irene slid it over her finger. "Sherlock, I can't take this. This is your grandmothers. Would you save it for someone who actually means something to you?"

"You mean everything to me." Sherlock replied "All I ask is that you keep it safe."

"Of course." Irene said. She leaned up and kissed him. "Makes my gift seem insignificant now," She smiled.

Sherlock picked the gift from his bed and tossed it between his hands. He pulled it open and unwrapped it. "Oh," He said. He pulled it out and held it up. It was a leather pouch. He opened it the many folds, spreading it out on his desk. It was tiny medical tools all bundled together.

"This is why we should consult on presents," She said. "It's okay if you don't like it."

"Irene, it's perfect," Sherlock replied.

"You think?"

"Of course... I..." He swooped down and kissed her again. "Thank you so much."

"If you must know, it's Victorian. Don't worry all been sterilised. But that is what medical men on the brink of science used to investigate patients." Irene said.

"Thank you," Sherlock said.

"Sherlock!"

He turned to see Mycroft standing at the door.

"Yes Mycroft?" He drawled.

"Get through here now," Mycroft hissed. "Hello Irene,"

"Merry Christmas to you too, Mycroft," She replied. "I have to go," She turned back to Sherlock.

"Why don't you stay?" Sherlock suggested. "Have dinner with us."

Irene looked uncomfortable. "I don't think that's a good idea."

"No Sherlock," Mycroft said coolly. "Irene please leave."

"Done," She said brightly. She kissed Sherlock again. "Thank you for the present." Then she took off into the snow, her white coat making her disappear against the whitewash that had overcome the area.

Sherlock closed the window and followed Mycroft into the living room.


	18. Chapter 18

I sat opposite Mycroft as he began to tuck in to the big Christmas spread, laid out on the table.

"Wine dear?" Mum asked. "I'll allow you to have a tipple, it is Christmas after all."

I avoided eye contact with her. She didn't need to know that I had been drunk before. "That would be fine, mum." I said.

She smiled and poured out a glass and handed it to me.

"So, boys," Dad said carving some turkey. "How has your day been? Has it been a good one this year?"

"One of the best," Mycroft said through bites of his food. "But I rather wish Sophie was here."

"Ah yes," I said. "Where is she again?"

"Away at Barcelona reporting on a story." Mycroft supplied.

"It's too bad that she has work today of all days," Mum said. "Never mind eh?"

"Yes, today is about family." Dad said.

I glanced up at Mycroft who seemed oblivious. "Actually," I drawled. "Today means very little in most cultures. This day was originally a Pagan holiday that the Christians from Rome used to help integrate their beliefs. The birth of the so called Lord Jesus, occurred roughly in the Summer."

"Well done Sherlock," Mycroft said. "You bored us all to death again with another pointless rendition of useless details. Why not be more selective of information?"

"Alright," I said. "Mum, wouldn't you like to know where dad was last night?"

Mycroft's knife and fork clattered onto the plate. He stared up at me. "Sherlock don't,"

"He was working," Mum said happily. "At Davies' office to sell some scrap off."

"Really? Look at him." I urged.

Dad stared at me, his eyes burning. Mum turned to him. "Robert what is he on about?"

Dad smiled. "No idea."

I stood up.

"Sherlock sit down." Mycroft ordered. I ignored him. I shoved my hand into my pocket and pulled out a photo. I thrust it down in front of mum. She stared at it with curiosity. Then with quaking hands she picked it up.

"Robert." She said. "What the hell is this?"

Mycroft stood up. "Sherlock, let's go."

"No," I said smugly. "I want to see this."

Dad took the photo from mum. Shaking with rage he grabbed the underneath of the table and toppled it over.

"You fucking followed me?" He bellowed.

"You and that hussy?" Mum shrieked. "How dare you!"

"Sherlock!" Mycroft shouted. "Get out!"

Dad held nothing back. He grabbed me by the arm pulling me to his face. His breath stank like hell. "Tell your mum that the photo is a fucking fake!" He roared.

"Robert Holmes!" Mum screamed. "Let him go!"

Dad released his grip and looked over at his wife. He then pulled mum up. "Sally, I never meant to hurt you. I just..." He looked away from her tears. "I just fell into temptation."

"You and her...? Why?" Mum whispered.

Mycroft pushed me out of the room. "You promised me you wouldn't say a word." He hissed.

I stared at him. "I lied."

"Get out," Mycroft ordered. "Just go. You obviously don't want to be a part of this family. Best just go."

I looked back at my weeping mother and my dad trying to console her. In that moment my own humanity hit me and I realised what I had done. Tripping over the carpet I fell out of the house and into the snow. The screaming filled my ears. I cursed under my breath at my own stupidity and ran. I ran so far and so quick, wanting to leave this world behind.


	19. Chapter 19

**29 Years Old**

"Mr. Bobby Rae Carl was convicted today of murder. His daughter Ellis Carl was brutally beaten to death at the Essex home. John Carl, the civil partner of Mr Carl was said to be deeply distressed at-"

"Sir!" Sherlock shouted over the babbling of the reporters. "Inspector!"

A gruff looking older man stopped and turned to the press. He sighed. "This is a black day for many. The clear signs of negligence should have been monitored more by the social services. Perhaps if it had then Ellis needn't have died."

"- The couple who married early 2003 in a civil partnership had their daughter conceived by a surrogate mother, who wishes to remain unknown at this time for she is a good friend to the couple. She holds the police in high regard for -"

"Detective Inspector!" Sherlock bellowed, following the gruff man.

He turned. "Listen, I don't want to talk to the press." He said. "Any questions may go to the spokesman."

"I'm not press," Sherlock breathed. "I don't think that Bobby Carl did kill his daughter."

"Listen, if you're family, I know you must be upset at the judge's decision-"

"I'm not family," Sherlock replied. "Listen to me, there are clear signs that even you couldn't miss-"

"Are you telling me how to do my job?"

"No, of course not. You've been trained for that. But there are some things that just don't make sense!"

The inspector turned to him. "Like what?"

"John says on the night of Ellis's death, Bobby was holding a bottle of whiskey." Sherlock said.

"So?"

"Well where is it in the evidence?"

"What?"

"John Carl said that the whiskey bottle was used almost like a weapon against him!" Sherlock said. "So where was the bottle in the evidence?"

"What's your name?"

"Sherlock Holmes."

"Well, Mr. Holmes-" The Inspector said.

"Sherlock, please." He replied.

"Well, I conducted a thorough investigation." The inspector said.

"No, you came up with a theory to fit some of the facts instead of a theory to fit _all _the facts." Sherlock snapped. "What about the autopsy report?"

"What about it?"

"Her bruises-"

The inspector stopped. "What about her bruises?"

"I think she had a bleeding disorder. If she had frequent nosebleeds than that would mean that she died because of a bleeding disorder not because Bobby Carl pushed her down the stairs." Sherlock said.

"That would have been tested for." The inspector replied.

"Not if there isn't a family history of haemophilia." Sherlock pointed out. "If she was bleeding internally then it is perfectly viable that the coroner mistaken the signs for abuse. I also assume that the Carl's friend wasn't aware of her family history otherwise she would have had her unborn child tested."

The inspector stopped and waited. "Go on." He said calmly.

"If Ellis were to say, trip and fall, it would cause bleeding. I do believe that she was beginning to walk. Say if John mistook the fall for his partner actually throwing their daughter-" He sighed. "Listen, I know it's a long shot. He probably did do it. But I'd rather my conscious clear that have the same constant fear that Carl was sent to prison for something he didn't do."

"Alright." The detective said. "Alright. We'll try and get the body released back from the father. It might take some work."

"Wouldn't the coroner have some of her blood left?" Sherlock asked.

"I'm not sure." He shrugged. "Hold on." He dipped back into the crowd.

"- We're getting reports from the spokesman that Detective Inspector Lestrade wishes to perform more tests on the infant Ellis Carl. Ah, Detective Lestrade-"

"No, I can't deal with this right now." Lestrade said, moving away."Mr Holmes!"

Sherlock turned sharply and saw the Inspector get into a car. He followed quickly.

...

"I have no idea why you want to do this," Dr Hooper said pulling out a vial of blood marked with "Carl. E". She handed it over to Sherlock. "I searched all options from every angle."

"I fear you didn't search everything," Sherlock replied, dabbing a drop onto the slide and slipping it onto the magnifying glass. "She has abnormal red cells." He muttered.

"I noticed that," Dr Hooper said. "But on orders I was rushed for time."

Sherlock pulled forth another test tube, letting a few drops of blood spill into it. He then dropped a few chemicals in.

"Those aren't the right-" Dr. Hooper said.

"My own special blend." Sherlock replied. "Molly would you be a dear and fetch DI Lestrade a coffee?"

"How did you know my name?" She asked

"Your name tag," Sherlock replied dryly. "It's not difficult. Oh, where's your spinning machine?"

Molly pointed over at the desk at the far side of the lab. Sherlock smiled "Thank you."

She smiled weakly and left.

Sherlock set the machine and sat down. "We will find out in a few minutes." He said.

"Such a simple test." Lestrade sighed.

"A child had died." Sherlock shrugged. "You were looking for a quick fix. It's understandable."

"Who are you anyway?" Lestrade asked.

"No one particularly important." Sherlock said. "Did you enjoy your time in the war?"

"Beg your pardon?"

"They way you hold yourself says military. Your speech says Sergeant. Yes?"

"How did you-"

"Ah, Molly." Sherlock said. "Lovely thank you."

Molly gave a tiny smile. "Well? What are the results?"

"Mm? Oh!" Sherlock opened the spinner and picked up the test tube. He stared at it then handed it to Lestrade. "Positive." He said. "I bloody knew it!"

Lestrade sighed.

"I'm sorry," Molly said her lip quivering. "I should have done the test."

"A human mistake." Sherlock replied coldly. "Lestrade, I rather think that we should let the officials know and let Mr Bobby Carl continue with his life."

"Yes, of course." Lestrade said, pulling out his phone. "Oi, where are you going?"

Sherlock was pulling on his coat and scarf. "I've done what I needed to do. You have your result and I solved a puzzle. Albeit a very dull puzzle but I solved it none the less." He turned and left.


	20. Chapter 20

**22 years old**

I was beginning to help myself to some coffee when Sebastian came down from his room. He looked quite frankly like shit.

"Was she any good?" I asked absent-mindedly stirring in some sugar.

Sebastian grinned and put a croissant onto a plate. "One of the best." He said. He then frowned. "Wait, what?"

I gave a small laugh. "Sebastian you really are quite predictable."

"How the hell do you know-"

"That you were shagging last night?" I asked. "Only a fool would miss it. You've showered-"

"It's basic hygiene, yes."

"You never shower on a Tuesday." I replied. "You are the worst when it comes to hygiene. And unfortunately for you, the shower didn't wash away any of her perfume. And there is a small dash of lipstick still on your neck."

Sebastian grinned. "Nice one. Who told you? Was it Barnes?"

I frowned. "Barnes?"

"Quite the gossip." He grinned.

"Barnes hasn't come down from his room this morning." I said calmly. I turned and began moving to the tables.

"Not eating today?" Sebastian asked sitting opposite and buttering the pastry.

"Nope." I replied.

"Class?"

"Social sciences."

"You're not going are you?" Sebastian said. "What kind of man does social sciences?"

"One that realises that it has many areas that can be used." I shot back.

"I can't see you working as a psychiatrist Sherlock,"

"I can't see myself working." I shrugged.

Sebastian laughed haughtily. "No, I guess not."

"You?"

"That blasted business studies. It is exceedingly dull." He replied.

I grinned. "You sound like my brother."

"How is your brother, might I ask." Sebastian asked.

"What is it to you?" I asked. "You barely know my brother."

"Fair enough." Sebastian shrugged. "How is lovely Irene?"

I looked up at him. "Away," I lied. "At her grandmothers. Her brother is sick."

He nodded. "Oh, right." He got up and rammed the pastry into his mouth. "Talk to you later?" He said spitting out bits of his food.

I wiped it off the table, a little pissed off. "Yes. Later. Whatever."

He grinned and left leaving me alone in the cafeteria watching the other students pass. My goodness, they were dull. Chatting about Duran Duran, and lipstick and the new nightclub they found the previous night. Even the coffee was dull.

"Alone again, naturally," Sang a voice.

I looked up. "Hello Irene." I said. She smiled down at me, her hair piled on top of her head with simple elegance and strands fell across her face with grace and simplicity. She held a bottle of Coca Cola in her hand and was letting the bottle top place with her bottom lip. Simply putting it she looked amazing.

She sat down next to me. "Bored are we?"

"Exceedingly so." I replied.

"Oh, well, I might have something to pick you up." She reached into her pocket and pulled out an envelope. I took it from her.

"What's this?" I asked.

"Guy from police, Lestrade or something... He's a young one, few years older than us. He is looking for individuals to help him on an enquiry."

I pulled out the envelope. Inside was a letter. "This is addressed to you." I said.

"Yeah, but not really my area of expertise." Irene replied.

"You work with a criminal mind. You could easily divulge a criminals intentions." I said wearily.

"Yeah, but it's more fun working for the bad guys," She replied. "Been a good boy?"

"Always," I replied.

"Oh, well," She pulled a little bag out of her pocket. "Don't open it here."

I smiled knowing what was inside. "How much do I owe you?"

"Consider it as a present." She said. "You know, for getting back into university,"

"Thanks." I said kissing her.

"Alright," She said. "I think I better go. Visits are not always appreciated."

"No," I moaned. "Stay,"

She bent down and curved her hand around my face. "Now, Sherlock. 'I want' doesn't always get."

"Please?"

"I can't. I have to go hustle some pensioners."

"I hope that's a lie." Sherlock said.

"I hope that you'll behave." Irene said. "Now let my hand go."

I kissed it tenderly. "Okay. Love you."

Irene paused and looked over at me. "Yeah, whatever." She said. "Listen I gotta go."

I sighed and watched her leave.


	21. Chapter 21

_Irene_

_Been out of my radar for too long, have we? Well, I must say that your criminal intents have kept me busy. Did you enjoy your time in Asia? Stealing off of the Prince's again, may not have been the best way to go about your business. I wonder why on earth you are back in London. After all there are plenty of other royals around the world that you could blackmail. It is not my duty to congratulate you on your criminal ways though i would have done if these were our teenage years. Then again, it may be fair to say that you may have changed your ways_

_Well, we know that's a lie. I am writing to you, not because my computer is broken – to which it is, but let us not get into that – rather that you can destroy the evidence. I am begging you to get out of London. Lestrade knows you're here and albeit under a false name, he will track you down. Unlike the days of jack the Ripper (to which I solved the case by the way) you can't simply disappear. I am wiring you money from my own account to get you out safely. Do not speak to anyone, do not contact anyone – especially me. The police, though dull and positively stupid will catch on. _

_The money I send to you must not be used for anything else but to get you out of the country. I needn't remind you that you are charged with criminal assault and intent to create riot like you tried up in Glasgow. _

_I have been fair. But I warn you Irene. I am not the man you once knew. I have changed, hopefully for the better. If you try my patience then I will let them catch you and lock you up. I will not be gracious in my revenge. You destroyed me in ways I could never imagine and though I was foolish I have grown and realised the errors of your ways and mine. _

_Do not take this opportunity for granted. The offer closes in 24 hours._

_You have my love, and my respect._

_Sherlock._


	22. Chapter 22

**30 years old**

Sherlock opened the door to his one bedroom flat, a cigarette dangling from his mouth. He sighed and tossed his keys to the side. He fell against the door and breathed heavily. There was a noise from the bathroom. Curious, but carefully, he picked up the umbrella from the stand and held it out like a weapon. He edged forward.

"Shit, Sherlock!"

"Irene?"

Irene Adler looked over at him, her eyes terrified. She had cropped her hair completely into a short style. But it suited her. In fact it looked better than her previous style. She smiled up at him and tucked her hands into her suit pant pockets.

"Hey," She said. She eyed the umbrella. "Are you going to hit me with that?"

Sherlock looked at the umbrella and put it down against the wall. She grinned at him walking around the room.

"Nice flat. A little boring, but you always wanted freedom."

"What are you doing here Irene?" Sherlock asked.

Irene said nothing staring at the bookshelves. She sighed. "I need your help." She said.

"What if I'm not liable to help?"

"Well, that would be a shame, but the thing is Sherlock, you always help." Irene said.

"What's with the suit?" Sherlock asked.

"Ah, yes." Irene looked down at her appearance. "I'm trying out something new."

"Suits you."

"Like the haircut?"

"Meh."

"Meh?"

"You heard me." Sherlock replied.

Irene smiled and pulled out her phone. "I need money."

"Well, I have none."

"I kinda guessed. Mycroft does though."

Sherlock watched her walk around the room. "Mycroft and I aren't talking."

"Shame."

"Irene, leave."

"Don't want to." Irene said. "Besides I have something for you."

She reached to her necklace and pulled it out from under her top, she unclipped it and handed it to him.

"What is this?" Sherlock asked.

"The jewel from the Sultan of a kingdom at the Mongolian desert." She smiled. "He was a little... well..."

"You stole this from him?"

"Better than been given it." She caught his expression. "Oh come on, I hung out with him a week after I nicked it and he never really noticed."

"Stealing is still stealing," Sherlock said.

"You used to enjoy the buzz it gave you." Irene said.

"What do you want?" Sherlock snapped. "Really?"

"Really?" Irene smiled unhappily and dropped onto the chair. "I'm in real trouble, Sherlock."

He stared at her. "What kind of trouble."

"I mean. I ran into the wrong sorta crowd while in East Peru." She said. "They took me to meet this man. He was an expert criminal in all sorts of ways. He is more like you than you'll ever know."

"Your point?"

"He took me under his wing. I was supposed to deliver money after I conned some old guy. I liked being free. You know me Sherlock. I can't stay anywhere for more than ten days. I got bored and I used the money to leave."

"So?"

"He's after me. I've seen his spies everywhere."

Sherlock sighed. "I don't know what I'm supposed to do with that." He said. "I don't hide fugitives of criminals masterminds in my home."

"You used to."

"I've changed."

"Yeah. I can see that."

"Irene. Get out."

"At least put me under the protection of one of your cop buddies." Irene said. "I know that you are in with that lot."

"No."

"Why not?"

"Karma." Sherlock said plainly.

"What?"

"You heard me." Sherlock said.

Irene stared at him for a minute, stood up moved to kiss him. But he moved away from her. Tears in her eyes, she ran from his apartment.


	23. Chapter 23

**A day later**

Something fell through the letterbox. Sherlock sighed and stubbed out his cigarette, breathing heavily. He rumpled his hair and stood up moving slowly towards the door. He saw an envelope lying on the welcome mat. He picked it up and a tiny silver thing tumbled out. He held it in his hand for a moment before realising that this used to belong to him. His grandmothers ring. The ring that he gave Irene 13 years ago. He flung open the door.

"Irene!" He bellowed, moving out into the hall.

"Not exactly," Said a gruff voice. Sherlock turned to see a thickset man staring at him. "Hello handsome boy."

Sherlock opened his mouth to speak but was met with the butt of a gun, knocking him into the blackness.

...

They took him in, bound and gagged. Irene watched, as she struggled against her own binds. They removed the sack from his head to reveal him. The gruff man held Sherlock's face up to Irene's.

"Got you a present!" He said, flinging him to the ground. He blew a kiss at Irene then walked away.

Irene struggled towards him. Then with bound hands she took the gag off his mouth. "I'm sorry," She whispered. "I'm so sorry." She kissed him feverishly. "I'm so sorry."

He let out a groan in pain.

"What? What?" She asked. "Oh god. You alright?" She touched his bleeding face.

"No, you just..." Sherlock let out a groan. "You kicked me in the nads."

Irene looked down and moved her knee. "Sorry." She whispered.

"It's okay," Sherlock scrunched up his eyes. "Why are we at Southbank?"

"Because." Irene said. "Because it is easier to dispose of the bodies here." She said. She turned to look at their captors who were whispering silently in the corner. "More importantly, if we die here, we won't be found for three months."

"They're gonna kill us?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Because I tried to run. And I looked to you for help."

"Who is it?" Sherlock asked.

Irene frowned. "I never met a name." She said. "And well... He gets the criminal thugs to do his dirty work."

Sherlock moved slightly.

"What are you doing?" She asked.

"I'm trying..." He shifted again. "... To... cut the... rope."

Irene frowned. "With what?"

"A rather sharp stone that has been under my foot since I arrived. Honestly, they really don't think things through."

The gruff man grabbed Irene's hair and pulled her back, holding a gilded knife in his hand and against her neck. "I don't like your boyfriend." He smiled toothlessly. "Now I don't want you to lose your pretty head."

"Don't you touch her!" Sherlock bellowed.

"Or what?" He bellowed back.

"I swear I will not rest till you meet your end."

"Oh... Are you going to kill me?" He grinned.

"That would be too nice."

"Sherlock..." Irene whispered. "Please don't."

"That's right pretty boy. Ye don't want me to get my hands on her flesh." He grinned.

Sherlock winced at the thought.

"Tony!" Shouted one of the other thugs. "Leave 'em for the boss." He was cleaner than the rest of them, with a grey suit and black shoes. The one called Tony smiled and let Irene go, playing with the knife. He walked away and turned his back on them

"Why can he afford a haircut but the others can't?" Irene whispered.

Sherlock shrugged. He shifted again. "There," He muttered. He reached down and pulled his leg binds away. "Very good knots."

"We can admire the craftsmanship later." Irene said. "Get me out." Sherlock said nothing "You're not leaving me are you?"

"No." Sherlock replied.

"Then what?"

"Shut up." He loosened her binds on her legs ready to be kicked off.

"What?"

"Shut up. And go along with it," Sherlock said. "Lie down."

"On this floor."

"Irene!"

"Alright," Irene pretended to faint.

Sherlock looked up at the crooks. "Help!" He shouted. "Somebody help her!"

Tony moved forward a glint in his eye.

"She must have passed out with fright." Sherlock said.

Tony bent down and looked down at Irene's pallid face. Sherlock leaned forward as if pretending to watch her. Then he hit Tony in the face and Irene kicked off her bonds and at the same time hit the crook in the balls. Several of the gang whipped out their guns.

"Stop!" Sherlock shouted. "You can't shoot without killing us. And doesn't your boss want us alive?"

"Don't mean we can't harm you." Said the cleaner cut one.

"Irene, run!" Sherlock bellowed. She took off her heels clicking on the pavement. Sherlock followed, hearing them close behind. He dodged under the bridge and into the sewers. The sound of firing followed rocketing off the stone walls. He felt a sharp pain in his leg and he buckled completely. Gritting his teeth he ran against the pain.


	24. Chapter 24

**Just before his 31****st**** birthday**

There was a knock at the door. Why is there always someone willing to annoy me when I am right in the middle of something? I reached down picked up the ashtray, stubbing out my cigarette before getting the air freshener out. I gave it a squirt before realising that there was none left. I sighed and shoved it into the bin.

Another knock.

"I'm coming!" I shouted. "Stupid bastard cunt, interrupting-" I flung the door open and stopped ranting. Marie stood at the door shivering cold, tears trailing down her face, her make-up smeared. "Marie?" I took her hands and led her into the room closing the door behind me with my foot.

I sat her down on my favourite chair. "What happened?"

Marie looked at me for a minute, blinking, she began to weep. Uncertain of myself, I tried putting my arms around her shoulders.

"Er..." I pulled away. "Tea? Coffee? Lemon water?"

Marie nodded. I took that as the last offer and hurried to the kitchen. There were no clean glasses and no bottled water left – I refuse to use tap water. I checked the kettle. There was still some left. So I poured the cold water out and into a freshly washed glass, then I went searching for a lemon. I accidently knocked a glass over, spilling the old contents. I cursed under my breath before cutting up the lemon and put it into the water.

"Here," I said, handing it to her. She smiled up at me through her tears. I sat on the sofa's arm staring at her. "Marie what happened?" I asked calmly.

Marie took a sip before shuddering. I handed her a tissue.

"What happened?" I pressed.

She looked up at me. A beady tear fell from her eye. I fell to my knees watching her. "Please tell me."

"i.." Marie looked away, her voice breaking. "It was..."

"What happened?"

"Irene." She said.

Shock took me for only a second. There were more pressing issues. "Marie, what did she do?"

Marie shuddered, holding her arms, tissue scrunched in her hand. She stared at it for a second before taking a deep breath. "She... I was... Out of work..." She took another breath, tears falling again.

"Okay," I grabbed a rough blanket and draped it over her shoulders. "Whenever you're ready," I said. We sat in silence for a few seconds, before my curiosity took hold. "Okay, I need to know what she did."

Marie wasn't surprised by the outburst. She smiled up at me. "She cornered me after work. I was walking to the bus."

"Yes?" I pressed.

"She..." Marie took a sigh. "She had been following me... She wanted to know about you... I wouldn't tell her... Then she... she got... she got angry..."

"Why?" I tried to suppress my rage. "Why didn't you just tell her?"

"Because, if she knew that you were... That you were no longer the cunt that you used to be... She'd go and try and change you back..."

"So? I can handle Irene." I said.

"You don't get it Sherlock!" Marie cried. "... That girl is poison. She made you different. For nearly 10 years, she had complete fucking control of you. She manipulated you. Changed you. Then she fucked off to stupid Argentina and left Mycroft and I to clean up the fucking mess."

She sighed and I looked away. "You don't need to protect me, Marie." I said angrily.

"Well... I did." Marie snapped. She tugged at her skirt.

"Then what happened?" I asked.

"She... She got all hysterical... That she was seeing monsters... She needed your help... I told her to chill... She pulled out this knife... I got scared and tried to get away from her..." Marie shuddered again before wiping her eyes smudging her eye make-up.

"Did she hurt you?" I asked calmly.

She didn't answer.

"Did she hurt you?" I repeated with a lot more force. "Marie! Answer the fucking question!"

Marie stared up at me. Then with what looked like a heavy heart, she nodded. I stood up and kicked the coffee table over.

"Sherlock," she cried. "Please don't get mad with me."

I stared at her incredulously. "Mad? With you?" I gave a haughty laugh. "Listen to me. She was fucking on hash or something. But it gives her no fucking right to attack you to get to me."

"Don't do anything stupid." Marie said. "Please."

"Stupid? Me?" I laughed again and picked up my coat. "Forget stupid. I am going to fucking kill her." I pulled it on frustrated. "Stay here." I said.

"Sherlock no!" Marie cried standing up. "Please don't leave me!"

"Stay here." I repeated, kissing her forehead. "Be safe."

"No." Marie said shaking her head. "No. Sherlock please."

I had already left.


	25. Chapter 25

Irene opened the door. Sherlock grabbed her neck forcing her into the hotel room, slamming the hotel door behind him. He pushed her against the wall, his eyes dark and dangerous and unlike anything Irene had seen before. He stared at her for a second. She grinned, her fingers nestling under his shirt. She breathed deeply.

"I've missed this skin," She whispered.

Sherlock slammed her head against the wall; she let out a loud wail and held her skull. She stared up at him still.

"Sherlock..." She moaned. "The monsters are coming."

"Then you deserve to be picked apart and tortured." Sherlock hissed. "You can attack me, you can come after me, but how dare you, how dare you touch Marie."

Irene laughed. "Save me Sherlock!" She wailed. "The monsters are coming!"

Sherlock squinted and sighed. She was high. Angrily he slammed her head again. She began to cry, holding his shirt. "Sherlock!"

"What?" he hissed.

"The monsters, the monsters..." Irene said. "Please Sherlock." Her fingers stretched around his neck holding him closer. "You were always there for me. What happened?"

"I grew up." Sherlock hissed. "You wanna talk to me? Fine, fucking talk Irene. I'm listening."

Her fingers touched his lips and the silence was filled with heavy breathing. She reached up and pulled him towards her kissing his lips. He found himself kissing back, lost in the memories of cherry chap-stick, Tennessee Williams whiskey and her old musty caravan. Irene pulled him closer, crossing her legs around his waist. His hands found the contours of her back looking for her bra and unhooking it. Her hands reached down for his jeans and unbuttoned them. Sherlock kissed her, holding her neck. He lifted her as she fumbled with her underwear. He carried her to the bathroom. She let out a loud groan grabbing the shower curtain and pulling it off the rail. It fell across them but they carried on.

Irene bit at his lips as he pushed himself so deep inside her. The sound of her begging for more filled the room. Sherlock's hand reached around her neck, wanting to choke her. She groaned out for him, her nails scratching his back, pulling him closer in her embrace. Almost begging him to love her the way she loved him.

...

The wake of morning broke through the frosted glass window of the bathroom window. Irene lay next to Sherlock, her make-up smeared and they lay in a wake of destruction.

Sherlock kissed Irene's shoulder staring up at her. "We can't keep doing this." He whispered.

Irene smiled, her fingers playing with his lips. "Why? Do you not like me?" She asked.

Sherlock got up from the floor. He picked up his jeans and pulled them on. Irene sat up, covering herself with the shower curtain. "Did that not mean anything to you?" She asked.

Sherlock didn't look at her.

"Sherlock?" She asked.

He still didn't turn to look at her. He began to button his shirt tucking his phone into his pocket. Irene got up and leaned against the door frame.

"Sherlock?" She asked again, her fingers tugged at his shirt. "Answer me."

"I grew up Irene." Sherlock said. "I grew up and stopped taking that shit."

"Then why were you here?"

Sherlock didn't say anything as he pulled on his shoes and left, slamming the door behind him, leaving Irene on her own.


	26. Chapter 26

**15 Years Old**

The music began to slow into a dance and the lights dimmed magically over the dance floor. I shifted uncomfortably in the suit, pulling off the jacket and sitting down at the edge of the hall. I hated things like this. What was the point? Who was to say when a new year started?

Marie was standing a little away from me talking to Phil and Roger. Stuck up prick. She spotted me and motioned to come over. I pulled back shaking my head, refusing to go. She sighed and looked back at them, then told them to hold her drink. She flounced over and sat next to me. She looked ravishing, with her hair curled prettily to one side and a blue dress that fell across her knees.

"Not going to dance?" She asked.

I shook my head.

"Double negative," She smiled. "You're dancing." She grabbed my hand and tried pulling me up. I remained seated.

"I'd rather not," I said.

"You'd rather sit here, miserable, alone on New Years?"

"Yes, actually," I replied. Marie sighed and let her head fall against my shoulder. "Why not go and dance with Roger or Philip?" I asked. "They are more than ready for you."

"Not my type." She shrugged. "You love this song." She said pointedly.

"I am aware of this." I replied.

"So dance." She said grabbing my hand and yanking me up to the dance floor.

She slid her arms over my neck and tentatively I put my hands around her waist. She sighed and took my hands, putting them around to her back. We span in our silence for a minute. The music cut out and a booming voice echoed from the intercom.

"5... 4...3...2...1... HAPPY NEW YEAR!"

The entire hall burst into cheers and verses of Auld Lang Syne. I stared bleakly over at the happy couples around the room. Marie pulled me forward and let her lips fall on mine. I pulled back.

"Sherlock, it's tradition to kiss someone On New Years." Marie said.

"Dating from when?" I asked.

"Oh shut up," Marie stood on her tip toes and kissed again. "Happy new year, Sherlock."

I smiled. "May the years be happy"

"Man you're weird." She said.

"Thanks," I replied.


	27. Chapter 27

**26 Years Old**

Mycroft slammed his hand down on Sherlock's as he tapped the letter opener on his knuckle looking absentmindedly around the pictures in the office. He stared at his brother for a moment before putting the letter opener down where he had found it.

"Would you behave?" He hissed. "You're looking at a formal suspension!"

"Yes, point out the obvious Mycroft." Sherlock replied drily. "Yes, my biographers would be interested but I'm rather not."

"Be quiet."

"But if I am, then how am I to apologise for all the nasty stuff I've done?" Sherlock asked insincerely.

"I'd rather wish you'd hurry up and apologise for the crap that you put us through," Mycroft muttered.

The Dean, Professor Farrow sat opposite the brothers his face stuck in a file. A moment of silence passed before Mycroft leaned forward. "Excuse me, but I'm on a strict schedule. "

"You will wait, Mycroft, like the rest of the world." Said the old man not looking up.

Sherlock sat there stunned. He had never seen his brother be pushed around. Mycroft was one of those people who could get what they wanted by whatever means and it was strange seeing him be told to wait. Mycroft obviously didn't like it either. He leaned back, pursing his fat lips. He pulled his watch from his waistcoat and stared at the ticking dial. Farrow removed his thin specs and ran his long scary fingers through his hair. Finally after a long moment, he dropped the file and turned to face the brothers.

"Mr. S. Holmes," He said, his voice hoarse. "You should thank your brother for getting you into such a prestigious school. He has done a lot to benefit this institution. And it remains only fair that we repay such action."

Sherlock gave a small smirk and an inwardly twinge of happiness. Thank you Mycroft and your big fat wad of money.

"However," Farrow said.

This hit Sherlock. Not again. God not again.

Farrow sighed and opened a book. He pulled out several pieces of paper and handed them over to Mycroft who took them and stared downheartedly at it.

"This was a gift," Mycroft said.

"It was a bribe to keep your brother here." Farrow said. "No arguing with me. You know it is true." He pulled forward the file. "Mr. S. Holmes has committed a number of violent actions and inexcusable breaches of the university."

"Then it must be a different Sherlock Holmes." Mycroft spat.

"Arson, stealing from the other students, cheating during exams, using the professors secrets to blackmail them, does any of this sound familiar, Mr Holmes?" Farrow asked. "Legally, I have enough to press charges."

Sherlock stared at the dean, his mouth twitching. Mycroft grabbed the file and read over it. He stopped and began to fume in a way that Sherlock had never witnessed before. He stood up and threw the file back at the Dean. He grabbed Sherlock and pulled him up from the chair.

"Sorry to have wasted your time," He said trying to be courteous, but unable to hide the anger in his voice. He leaned forward and shook Farrow's hand, before marching his brother out of the room.

"I thought you were meant to defend me," Sherlock snapped as soon as the door shut.

Mycroft said nothing as he began to pace, his hands on his hips, shaking his head sadly.

"Mycroft, speech has never been your strong point but I'd rather you use the language that the Neanderthals blessed you with and not the grunting and impaired language that your brother apes gave you."

Mycroft looked up, staring at his younger brother. A smile began to play across his face.

"What?" Sherlock asked. "Mycroft what are you laughing at?"

Mycroft turned on his heel, before speaking. "It's funny you know."

Sherlock sighed. "Alright, I'll humour you," He said. "What's funny?"

"You said to me that you wanted to get your life straightened out. So, we made you detox, gave you new suits, I even got the Dean of this university to accept you back on grounds that I give him donations to buy new equipment. There was no Irene so theoretically there should be no reason that you fall back into destructive patterns. So what do you do?" He began to laugh again. "You still fall into the same routine that destroyed you in the first place."

"What can I say?" Sherlock asked, sitting down. "People bore me."

"That's not an excuse, Sherlock." Mycroft said. "Do you not think that people bore me too?"

Sherlock said nothing. Mycroft's mobile began to buzz. He sighed and checked the caller ID. "It's mum." He said shocked.

Sherlock looked up. "What's wrong?"

"I don't know genius," Mycroft said answering the phone. "Mother?" He asked wandering away casually from his brother. Sherlock stood up and focused on the picture hanging opposite. It was of the rowing team in the 1970's.

Maybe Mycroft was right. Maybe it was time to grow up properly. He was already half way there. Plenty of brilliant people had to deal with boring predictable situations.

"Sherlock," Mycroft said shutting the phone. "father's been taken to hospital,"

"I think you mean the vet's." Sherlock replied bitterly.

"He's had a major cardiac arrest." Mycroft said. "The doctors who examined him say that he is riddled with cancer."

Sherlock sat stunned. "Cancer?" He asked.

"Yes. Lung cancer to be specific. It's spread to his heart constricting blood flow. Years of drinking has shut down his liver, so that's failing too. He's not eligible for transplants."

"Where are they?" Sherlock asked.

"Charing Cross," Mycroft said. "He has about a day. Come on, lets go,"

Sherlock shook his head. "I don't want to."

"Are we going to have to fight about this too?" Mycroft snapped. "He's our father. I don't care how much you hate him. We're going to the hospital."

Sherlock stared at his brother's tired broken face for a moment then nodded. "You're right," He said.

"I am?" Mycroft asked, shocked to get this much support from Sherlock. "Yes, I am. Come on,"


	28. Chapter 28

The hospital corridor smelt of old chemicals and sick. Nurses passed with ease, carrying the heavy burden of the dead on their shoulders. Sherlock walked behind his brother completely detached from what was going on around him. His mind and his body in worlds of their own. His breathing was catatonic, barely getting above normal rate. He turned the corner.

Mycroft was speaking to the grey haired woman sitting on the vinyl chair. Sherlock took a moment to realise that it was his mother. She stared at him for a few seconds before stretching out her arms towards him. Her skin was cold and it hit Sherlock like a knife. She talked softly to him, holding his cheeks.

Sherlock blinked trying to focus on her words. Her dry lips pursed and twitched and was distracting. Sherlock looked over through the ward window. Tied up to a ventilator and a heart monitor lay the familiar figure of his father. His hand tried to reach for the handle. He had to see. He had to know.

Mycroft pulled him back making him sit on the vinyl. He said something again, slowly as if Sherlock was dense or something. He nodded accordingly pretending to listen. Blood flushed into his ears. It was the sound of his heartbeat in step with the heart monitor of his father's room. His mother extended her arm trying to comfort him as he stared at his shoes. Mycroft was on the phone – cancelling appointments. He held his mother close slowly walking down the corridor. Perhaps going to the canteen or the family cots for a while.

Sherlock stood up, shaking. He tugged open the door and stopped. What was he... What would he... What the hell was he doing...

Sherlock sighed. Someone called out for him. He turned to see his father's arm extended up to him. Uncomfortable, he sat down on an armchair beside the bed.

The only time Sherlock had ever seen his father show true weakness was at the moment he begged his wife to take him back. Never had he seen a grown man cry. Now he was covered in wires and lying there, weak, tired and pale.

Sherlock said nothing. Watching him. His dad pulled him forward. Whispering softly in his ear. Sherlock sat back stunned. Then with terrified eyes he nodded. He took a moment to regain full knowledge of his body. He stood up and shut the blinds to the private ward. He then poked his head through the door to make sure that no one would disturb him. Shaking, his hands reached for the crash cart. He slid open one of the drawers and looked for the right syringe. Haloperidol. A sedative medication. But if enough was given to him then he would slip away. Or there was insulin. He knew that enough of that would send him into a coma as it burnt all the sugar in his body. There was no morphine. Maybe for good reason. Sherlock picked out the one he knew would do most damage. He clipped off the cap and threw it into the sanitation bin. He pulled forward his father's IV and injected it into the tube. His father grabbed his wrist staring at his son for a second. He groaned miserably and fell back onto the bed. Sherlock pushed on the plunger shoving the medication into his father's system.

He stared at the heart monitor for a moment, making sure that he was in the clear. He threw the syringe into the bin and nodded curtly to his father. Robert Holmes blinked then began to shout as a burning sensation passed through his veins. Sherlock did nothing for a second then ran out into the corridor shouting for help.

...

Help had come. But it was too late. The doctors had suspected that he would slip shortly. Sherlock was in the clear. He sat to the side listening to his mother talk tearfully to the doctors. Mycroft wrapped his arms around her trying to comfort her. He turned to his brother.

"You and dad were talking?" He asked.

Sherlock nodded.

"About what?"

Sherlock stared at his brother. "Is this an interrogation?" He asked.

Mycroft sighed. "No." He said. "No, it's not." He held his mother tighter. "I think its best we went home."

Sherlock nodded feeling numb. As if his body wasn't his own.


	29. Chapter 29

**She was a Phantom of Delight**

She was a Phantom of Delight,  
When first she gleamed upon my sight  
A lovely apparition sent  
To be a moments ornament  
Her eyes as stars of Twilight fair  
Like Twilight's too her dusky hair  
But all things else about her drawn  
From May-time and cheerful dawn  
A dancing shape, an image gay  
To haunt, to startle and waylay

I saw her upon nearer view  
A spirit yet a woman too!  
Her household motions light and free  
And steps of virgin liberty  
A countenance in which did meet  
Sweet records, promises as sweet  
A creature not too bright or good  
For human nature daily food  
For transient sorrow, simple wiles  
Praise Blame Love kisses tears and smiles

And now I see with eye serene  
The very pulse of the machine  
A being breathing thoughtful breath  
A traveller between life and death  
A reason firm, the temperate will  
Endurance, foresight, strength and skill  
A perfect woman, nobly plann'd  
to warn, comfort and command  
And yet a spirit still and bright  
With something of an angel light

William Wordsworth.

Irene leaned over, throwing the book aside. Her lips touched mine sending electricity through my veins. I kissed back, leaning into her with need and hunger. She smiled and pulled away.

"No," I moaned.

"Sherlock," Irene whined mocking me.

I pouted. "If we're not going to do anything, then can I please finish my homework?"

"Bah, homework," Irene said. "I can think of a hundred other things we can do." She leaned forward and whispered in my ear. "Please."

"Irene," I said stubbornly.

She sighed and picked up the book. "William Wordsworth," She said.

"Give it to me." I said. She held it above my head playfully, sitting on my lap. "Irene, please. Otherwise I'll fail the course."

Irene looked at me with some disdain. "Who cares?" She said.

"What?" I blinked.

Irene sighed angrily getting up from my lap. "It's the same old story." She said. "I mean, grow up, go to school, get a job, get married, have kids, get another job, get a TV, watch your kids grow up in front of the telly, watch them grow up into this world then die alone and miserable in a home. Why would anyone want to do that? And on top of the misery of life, the predictable moments and all that, we have to pay to get ourselves through this life. Everything comes at a price. Even our happiness. I mean, what's natural anymore? How can we be expected to find happiness through the predictable crap that is bound to be flung our way? The only people who can be truly happy are the ones that have broken free from this system, this stupid system where we are trapped in this world. A system that is of our own making. Now why on earth would you want to do that? I thought your mind was free enough to realise that."

She stared at me.

"Wow," I said. "I think someone has been reading Irvine Welsh,"

"He has a lot of good ideas about him," Irene said.

"I know." I said. "I just never thought that you would base his life around him,"

"It's either that or Gerard Kelly," She replied.

I laughed and kissed her. "Please give me my book back."

"I don't want to." She replied.

"Please?"

"Um... No."

"Irene." I said.

"Erm... No." She said. She began wandering around the caravan. I sighed and followed her.

"Please?" I tried snatching it from her. She ran into her room. I followed her. We landed on the bed laughing hysterically. She rolled over and kissed my knuckles.

"I love these hands." She said. "Can I keep them?"

"Sure," I said. "Have them, I won them in a poker game."


	30. Chapter 30

It hurt. It physically hurt to look at her. As we stared at each other in the house I grew up in, I thought about all the times that I had hurt her. All the times that I had made her life miserable. All the times I called her, lying in a drunken stupor. Her lip quivered as realisation hit. She knew when I lied, she always knew when I lied.

"Why?" She wailed. "Sherlock, why?"

I felt the pain in her voice. I shook my head. "I'm sorry mum," I said. "I'm so sorry mum,"

"Get out!" She shrieked. "Get out you murderous treacherous swine!" Mum screamed, picking up the fire poker.

"Mum, please," I said. "He was in pain-"

"I don't care!" She screamed, tears rolling down her cheeks. "I don't care! He was you father!" She lunged at me. I managed to dodge and hit the poker to the ground.

"Mum, please," I tried, grabbing her wrists. She began to batter my chest, screaming bloody murder. She collapsed into uncontrollable sobs. Unable to hold it together anymore, I collapsed to, holding her close. Tears pouring down my face, I sobbed too.

"I'm sorry mum," I cried. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

"Get out," Mum wailed.

"No." I replied. "I can't. I need to know you forgive me."

"How dare you!" Mum wept into my shoulder. "How could I ever forgive?"

"Mum, I'm sorry," I said. "Please, mum, I'm so sorry,"

"You have no heart," She whispered.

"I do, please mum." I said. "Please."

"Get out," She repeated, tears trailing down her wrinkled cheeks. "Get out, Sherlock."

"No, I can't do that mum," I said.

"Just get out." She whispered. "Just leave me alone,"

"Mum-"

"GET OUT!" She screamed, trying to push me off.

"I can't!" I cried. "Mum, I am sorry." I sighed. "I'm sorry for everything."

"Leave me alone," She whispered, still trying to pull away from me.

"No, mum, please-"

"No, you listen. You don't belong to me. You're not the son I knew."

"Mum-"

"Get out!"

I blinked, tears falling thick and fast. Emotion choked my throat. Something that had never usually happened. I breathed heavily wishing for strength. "Mum," I whispered kindly.

She pulled away, standing up and edging towards the fire. "Just go," She said.

And then I broke down completely.


	31. Chapter 31

**Aged 23 years old.**

"_I can't do this anymore-"_

"_-Sherlock, you've disappointed me, again."_

"_-Why? Why do you insist on being a –"_

" – _How could you do this – "_

"_You selfish, dishonest, disgusting bastard – "_

" – _I've stuck my neck out for you too many times – "_

"_Stop it!"_

Sherlock's eyes opened beadily. He let out a deep breath, letting the water swill into his mouth. On the bath rim was a needle and a vial of 0.7% solution of cocaine. He could end it all. He could inject an air bubble into the vein and end it all. Right here. Right now. His hair clung to his skin as he thought about all his past experiences. His future ones and the ones that existed in the present. His undesirable want for Irene. His need for her. But his need for the drugs was far more accessible. With long spindly fingers, he reached out for the needle. His fingers traced the marks on the crook of his elbow. He could hear the voices of things to come and knew in his heart that something was wrong. Did he already take the drugs?

He could hear his brother pounding at the bathroom door, screaming at the top of his lungs to let him in. Above Sherlock's head images swirled like patterns. His hand closed around the needle.

"Sorry," He muttered, ramming it into the vein.

_**-Fin.**_

_**Let me know you're thoughts. I've enjoyed writing this, I hope you enjoyed reading it. **___


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